Everything Has Changed
by TheBeautifulDreamer
Summary: Michigan Greene is a 16 year old girl stuck in the memories of a past relationship and just wants to get through the school year completely invisible. But the arrival of a strange new student with hidden problems of his own turns her world upside-down and might just changed everything she ever thought she wanted... Highschool AU. Slight language. Reviews are love!
1. Breathe

**_Heeeyyyyy guys, thanks for clicking! This is the second time this story has been posted due to revisions, and I think it's a bit better than it was previously. _**

**_I was inspired by Leslie the Sorceress and her story 'On My Own', which is also a high school AU, and which you should totally check out if you haven't already. Also check out her other story 'Breathe' which is almost the same as 'OMO' but not quite. They're very good._**

**_Anyway, I hope you like this enough to follow and review and all that jazz._**

**_I own all characters except the ones you recognize._**

**_Read on and please enjoy :)_**

* * *

I see your face in my mind as I drive away,  
Cause none of us thought it was gonna end that way.  
People are people, and sometimes we change our minds.  
But it's killing me to see you go after all this time.

Music starts playin' like the end of a sad movie,  
It's the kinda ending you don't really wanna see.  
Cause it's tragedy and it'll only bring you down,  
Now I don't know what to be without you around.

And we know it's never simple, never easy.  
Never a clean break, no one here to save me.  
You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand,

And I can't breathe without you  
But I have to.  
Breathe without you  
But I have to.

'Breathe'- Taylor Swift

* * *

I think I'll start this story on a crisp, cold morning in July. Imagine, if you will, a shopping center. It's Saturday, so the place is jam-packed with people, all of them rushing in every direction, intent on getting where they want to go, whether it be to work or the movies or to grab a bargain in one of the many shops that cluster the plaza. The corridors and aisles are pulsing and noisy with hundreds of voices talking over the top of each other. The sea of people is overwhelming. Everyone is moving... well, almost everyone.

In the midst of all these people, a girl stands outside a shop- Sanity, to be exact- ignoring the crowd that moves around her like a river around a boulder, focused instead on a figure inside the shop. She stands there for a while, just staring, before the figure disappears behind a shelf and she's jolted away from the sight by one of the rushing people. Mussed hair, wide eyes, quick apologies; then both of them are off in different directions, and the girl is looking behind to make sure she didn't miss anything.

"Mich!"

She looks down to see a young girl with crossed arms and serious expression, tapping her foot.

"Mum's been looking everywhere for you!"

She looks behind again, nodding absently. "Yeah, ok." Her eyes widen as the figure she was looking at before emerges from the shop and walks across the crossway, and she starts to back away, hoping she won't be seen. Halfway across, he's met by someone else, someone who walks coolly out of Supre and lets herself be caught up in his arms, someone who makes the girl's shoulders sag and turn away. The two of them kiss for a minute, ignoring the dirty looks the people around give them, and the little girl points to them, wrinkling her nose.

"Hey, isn't that-"

"Yeah." She pushes the pointing hand away and sets the girl in the other direction. "Yeah, it is."

The little girl rolls her eyes and grabs her hand. "Oh come on, you're not-"

"No, I'm not," she interrupts, but still she stands there watching the couple as they kiss and smile and talk and tease until they decide to go, walking down the center arm-in-arm and still she watches, until they're out of sight and the little girl is truly impatient.

"You're pathetic," she sighs, and pulls her away. The girl lets herself be taken, her mind occupied somewhere else entirely.

* * *

Another morning. The sun shines through the worn-out curtains of a small bedroom in a large-ish house in a small Australian town, illuminating a lumpy shape under the covers. On the nearby bedside table, a small electronic tablet vibrates, and a white arm slowly feels its way out of its warm cocoon, picks up the object, and retreats back whence it came.

I powered up my device, the bright light shocking my sleepy eyes under the stifling darkness of the quilt, and found the 'recent updates' tab down the bottom of the screen. Two likes and one comment on Intsagram and one Kik message. I tapped the Kik symbol.

'R U awake?'

_Em_. I yawned as I typed in a reply.

'I am now.'

'Wat r u doin?'

I smiled and shook my head. 'Looking 4 a dictionary.'

'Y?'

'So i can thro it in ur face.'

'wateva.' A pause as the words above the message read _Emma Smith is typing_. 'I tht u said u were goin 2 help me make a costume?'

'Soz i forgot.' I went to my homepage and sent two messages, then returned to find a new one.

'sum frend u truned out 2 B. i'm freaking out here.'

'its not until the end of the month.'

'im still freaking out.'

Two reply messages appeared, to which I clicked the button 'add people' and selected two names. 'Bex and Dez r here.'

'hi guys.'

'morning.'

'is it morning already?'

'afraid so.'

I left the chat room then, pulling up Pinterest instead. Monitoring the back-and-forth messages as they pinged into my updates box, I browsed through pictures of formal dresses and hairstyles- the formal wasn't until next year, but it didn't hurt to plan ahead- until I got a message that was obviously meant for me.

It was from Dez. 'hey mich.'

'what.'

'i saw P yesterday.'

My relatively happy mood dropped like a lead balloon, the way it always did when a certain name came up. 'were you the plaza?'

'yeah, he came in to maccas with E. they r disgusting together.'

I thought back to the sight I had witnessed yesterday and my stomach churned. 'i kno. i saw them 2. PDA much?'

'as if we don't have enough of that school.'

'ugh i kno. i hate them so much.'

'careful, ur starting 2 sound a bit jelly.'

'of who, Esme?'

'maybe.'

'plz tell me ur jk.' I was not, under any circumstances, jealous of Esme Azarola. Not one bit.

I should probably tell you who all these people are before I go any further. This Esme who I am _soooo_ not jealous of? She's the meanest mean girl you will ever meet. You know all those cliche blonde chicks in the movies? She's _waaay_ worse. She's gorgeous, of course- tanned, perfect skin; soulful, dark eyes; the longest, curliest brown hair I have ever seen; and a slender, toned body that was the inspiration to pretty much every girl in the school. She was Spanish, or Italian, or some European nationality, and her mother was filthy rich- well, compared to everyone else, anyway. We didn't live in the richest neighborhood, here or in the last place we had been. I had known her since primary school, so I think I'm pretty qualified to say that you did _not_ want to get in Esme Azarola's bad books. I don't know how she did it, but that girl had a way of making your life a living nightmare if she didn't like you. She was queen bee and was not to be crossed.

And there was no reason, absolutely no reason at all, for me to be jealous of her. I mean she did have awesome hair and was dating my ex-boyfriend of 9 months, but I sure as hell wasn't jealous.

Ah, the ex. The mysterious 'P'. His name was Phoebus James, and we had gone out for about two months at the end of 10th grade. He was blonde and tall and adorable, and I had been crushing on him for nearly a year and a half when the girls I hung out with at that time decided to ask him out for me. They thought it was about time I got a boyfriend and 'grew up a bit', and being the impressionable, lovesick 15 year old I was, I agreed. He was my first real crush (unless you counted a brief obsession with an older boy when I was 12) and I thought he was wonderful. Of course I never thought he could be anything other than sweet, shy, nerdy Phoebus, the new boy who had no real status yet, so I happily entered the relationship without thinking of what the future might bring.

I think you can guess the rest of the story. Two months of happiness, then it ended one warm summer morning before school. I heard the news via my friends, one of whom had being messaging him the night before and was told that he wanted to end it but didn't know how. She had volunteered to tell me and that was that. It was over. He had broken my heart, and I had never gone out with a boy again. Even now, 9 months later, when some of my friends were easily going from boy to boy, I was still prone to occasional flashbacks and nostalgia for the only boy I had ever given my heart to. Pathetic, I know, but that's just the way I am. I love hard and fall hard, and I take forever to heal.

But I still wasn't jealous.

'i'm jk.' came the reassuring message, and I sighed with relief. 'so what were u doing yesterday?'

'helping mum find some shoes. and i found some cat ears for Em.'

'cool.'

A new message popped up, this one from Em. 'where r u guys?'

'im here,' i typed, shifting around under the covers. It was starting to get hard to breathe now, but I wasn't ready to enter the cold morning air just yet. 'just saying that i found u some cat ears yesterday.'

'wat do they look like?'

'black and pink with bows and bells.'

'nice.'

'so r u goin 2 wear the dress or the shorts?'

'idk yet.'

Here Bex popped in. 'i dont like the dress. its too goth punk, not wat ur looking 4.'

'i agree.'

'i dunno, i think Em could pull off the goth-punk-fairy-cat-look.'

'tru dat.'

And it is true. The only one in our group who is actually my age, Emma Smith is considered- by me, anyway- the prettiest of all of us. She's South African, with dark-ish skin that I swear sparkles sometimes. Her teeth are crooked and her eyelashes are a little stumpy, but her eyes are large and brown, her features pretty much perfect, her ombre hair thick and tousled. Her fashion sense is sophisticated, and she can pull pretty much anything off if she wants to. If we weren't friends I think I would be insanely jealous of her, because she really is beautiful in an imperfect kind of way.

We were trying to put together a costume for her, for the annual mid-year dance that was happening at the end of July, about a month away. A 'Costume Ball', the posters called it. Usually there was a particular theme, but obviously they had run out of ideas because this year it was simply 'Cosplay'. Em was going as a cat, and since she was the only one of us going, she was trying to make up for it by enlisting our help with the costume. At the moment she was torn between shorts or a gauzy black skirt I had bought in a moment of insanity that one time JayJays.

'i'm not going 2 the dance in sum gauzy fairy crap,' came the final verdict. 'i like the shorts.'

'cool.' I was gasping now, so I reluctantly pulled the covers off my head and squinted at my bedside clock, noting as I did that the bed next to mine was empty and probably had been for some time. _Oh crap..._ 'U guys, it's 8:15. we're gonna B late.'

'not me, i'm heading out in a minute.' I could almost hear Dez laughing at my lack of organization. "don't tell me ur still in bed?'

'guilty as charged.' I threw off the covers and winced as the winter air nipped at my arms and legs, shivering as I shuffled around my tiny room looking for my uniform shirt.

Dez- Desiree Jennings for long- is my best friend. Half-French, 15 years old, too clever for her age and obsessed with horses, she may be crazy but she's probably also the sanest one of us all. She's not the prettiest girl in the world but she makes up for it with her long hair and wide smile, and by being the voice of reason in more than a few situations. Constantly optimistic despite having problems of her own, she is an inspiration to me and one of the few people I completely trust.

Rebekah McKenzie is a different story altogether. 14, flame-haired and as giddy as Galinda Upland, Bex is obsessed with Paris, boy-bands and British TV to the point of not talking about anything else. The youngest in a large family, sometimes it seems like she's still just a kid- but then, her random childishness is one of the things I love about her.

I'm also part of a big family- 4 sisters, my parents and mum's mum in a 4-bedroom house, plus dad's parents in the granny-flat next door- but unlike Bex, I'm the oldest. I'm pretty average-looking- frizzy brown hair, brown eyes, big nose, a bit chubby all over. I'm creative, though. I love art, even though I'm not very talented, and I like to write stories (mostly fanfiction) which I'm not too bad at, if I do say so myself. I'm into sci-fi and theater stuff, and I'm an avid reader when I get some time to myself and a good book. That isn't very often, given all the homework and chores have to do, not to mention trying to squeeze in a bit of writing time in-between school-work.

You've probably also worked out that I'm not the most organized (or punctual) person.

I rushed around my room, pulling on clothes, grabbing my shoes and bag and hurriedly tidying up (read: moving everything from the floor to the bed) as I went, as comments popped up on my tablet from my friends, probably teasing me about my disorganization. After looking at the clock again and deciding I didn't have time for makeup, I grabbed my tablet and rushed out to the kitchen to make my breakfast and lunch and yell at whoever was there for not getting me up on time.

* * *

About 20 minutes later, I kissed Mum goodbye and joined the girls at the front gate, where they had been waiting for me. After apologising for being late and listening to their friendly teasing for a few minutes, I reminded them that there was another 20 minutes before the bell rang and asked them what they wanted to do.

Dez held up her clarinet case and told us she was going to practice, and Bex decided to go to class early, the swot, so that just left me with Em. We looked at each other, unsure of how to spend the next 20 minutes, before Em got an idea. "Hey, do you still have the key to the old art room?"

I grinned. "Yep. You wanna visit my secret lair?"

She nodded, and we headed off.

The semester before, Park Ridge High had had a bit of a makeover, and as a result there were now a few unused rooms left over. One of those rooms used to be an art room, and it was still full of broken easels, dried up paints, stiff paintbrushes and books and paper shoved in every corner. No-one had bothered to clean it out and no-one ever went in it. I had stolen a key from the janitor one afternoon and had a copy made, and claimed the room as my own little hideaway. Em had never been inside, but she knew that if I wasn't with the girls, I was in there, writing stories or making use of the few usable art supplies that were left.

On the way to the art room, I ran to my locker and shoved all my stuff in except my black shoulder-bag. As I slammed it shut and got ready to leave, Em nudged me, and I looked in the direction she was pointing. On one end of the hall was a limping figure, bent almost double it seemed, clad in a green jacket and walking slowly. I knew who this was. He was a new student, a boy in my year, who had arrived in the last week of last term, giving everyone just enough time to form an opinion of him before the holidays arrived. His name was Quasimodo Frollo, he was 16, and he was the ugliest person I had ever seen.

His face was impossibly twisted, a bit like squashed play-dough, and his reddish hair flopped over one side, hiding what looked like a giant lump just above his right eye. His eyes were green, ridiculously green, and he was about my height or a little shorter. You would think that having a facial deformity would be his only problem, but no. He was hunchbacked. Yeah, that's right. Really, properly hunchbacked, with a giant lump on his back and his head squished between his shoulders like her was trying to hide. Oh, and he also had one leg shorter than the other. What a combination, right? He looked like someone had tried to fix a broken toy and failed miserably.

I remember thinking as soon as I saw him that he would get picked on a lot. I hadn't been paying attention the term before, but as I watched him shuffle up the hallway towards me, head down and eyes on the ground, I could already hear the whispers and giggles. The students of Park Ridge loved a bit of gossip, and they loved a bully's target even more. Oh yes, he was so a target. No-one that ugly could be ignored for long. There was always someone who felt they needed to pick on someone else to make themselves feel better.

Em nudged me again and this time pointed at the other end of the hallway, and my heart sank a little. _Speak of the devil..._

Esme, Phoebus, and Phoebus' two friends, Andrew and Brett, stood in the door way, all of them staring with rapt interest at the boy down the hallway. They were always together, those four, and they were always making trouble for unpopular students. I watched them talk quietly among themselves; then Esme smiled her beautiful, evil smile and nodded at them, and the boys started walking down the hallway towards Quasimodo.

Everything seemed to slow down. Quasimodo kept his eyes on the ground, no doubt aware that everyone in the vicinity was looking at him. As he came closer, Andrew, Brett and Phoebus sped up, and I watched as they 'accidentally' collided with him, causing him to drop his bag and making everything fall out. Books and papers were scattered over the floor, and the sound of laughter followed the boys as they high-fived and headed for the door at the other end.

I was about step over and help him when Em grabbed my arm. Standing in front of him, holding a book and looking for all the world like a kind, caring person, was Esme. She crouched down to help him pick everything up, then smiled brightly and patted him on the shoulder before skipping out the door. Quasimodo stared after her, as everyone started murmuring to themselves.

Em and I exchanged bewildered looks, then she glanced at the clock and started heading in the direction of the art room. I started to follow, still looking at Quasimodo as he stood up, looked at a piece of paper, and approached the empty locker next to mine. His eyes flicked in my direction, and our gazes met.

It was strange, but in those few seconds when the greenest eyes I had ever seen were locked on me, I felt like everything had come to a halt. We stood there, him and me, not moving, not saying anything, just staring; and when I realized what I was doing, I tried to back up, apologise, anything, but I couldn't. It was like I was frozen, help captive by those iridescent eyes that had to be the most beautiful things I had seen in my life. Again I tried to say something, but my mouth seem to dry up and my tongue seemed to stick to my palate, rendering it useless. I was shy and introverted at the best of times, but this was ridiculous. With mouth dry as a bone and feet stuck to the floor, I felt like a tongue-tied idiot. God knows what he thought of me, this weird rude girl who couldn't stop staring at him.

Half an hour later (actually only 7 seconds) my feet finally decided to obey my brain and the world un-paused itself. Recovering myself, I shook my head, spun on my heel and hurried out after Em, wondering what hell had just happened.

* * *

"Well, that was weird."

I nodded vaguely as I dug in my bag for the art-room key, my thoughts preoccupied with what had just happened. "Freaky-weird."

"Esme Azarola doesn't just stop and help someone, especially not people like him. It must be a joke or part of a plan or something... Oh!" She snapped her fingers, eyes lighting up. "I've got it! She's chosen him!"

"Chosen him for what?"

"The prank thing, idiot. You know, the big event, when Esme chooses some poor, unsuspecting mortal to humiliate at the dance?"

"Oh, that." It was a long-standing tradition of sorts, which had been started about 7 years ago by another girl who loved a bit of drama. Every year, one person, usually some kind of outsider, was chosen to be pranked and humiliated in front of everybody at the annual costume dance for a bit of a laugh. Esme had decided to carry on the tradition when the original organizer graduated, and it had recently become more common knowledge when videos of the pranks had been uploaded to YouTube for everyone to watch.

Of course. The strange scene at the lockers was beginning to make some sense now. Quasimodo was definitely the most obvious choice for this year's prank.

But as Em continued to speculate, my mind went back to what had just happened to me back there. _I got tongue-tied- I never do that! Sure, I'm shy and don't usually talk to people anyway, but I couldn't speak a word! That never happens to me- unless it's someone I have a crush on or something. But why couldn't I speak to Quasimodo, of all people?_

"Hey, Mich! Earth to Michigan!" Em poked my shoulder impatiently. "How about spacing out when we've got time for it, ok?"

"Oh... yeah..." I shook my head to clear it and unlocked the door. "Here you, the art room. Nothing special, just a nice place to hang out."

We stepped into the room, and I breathed in the familiar smell of dust, musty paint and goodness-know what else- probably dangerous chemicals, but I didn't really care. This was the one thing I had missed about school during the holidays, and as I gazed around the dark classroom, I felt my spirits begin to lift. It was really only a normal classroom with a few more cupboards and a blackboard, but it was a safe haven.

Em wrinkled her nose at the smell and gingerly perched herself on the corner of a desk. "So, what do you do it here?"

I dropped my bag- containing my paintbrushes, art book and pencil case- in a cupboard and reached behind a shelf, bringing out a pile of canvasses. "These, mostly."

She browsed through the paintings, tilting her head to the side as she examined them. The top one was an almost abstract portrait of a girl underwater, eyes closed and hair floating like a halo. There was a simple red, orange and black sunset, and a bright reproduction of Monet's 'Sunrise'. A foil-and-shellac butterfly on a purple background was at the bottom of the pile, and as I reached behind the shelf for one last canvas, Em gave an impressed nod. "I knew you were arty, but I had no idea you were this good."

"Yeah, everyone seems to love the blue one." I snorted, brushing the dust off the last painting- the small palm tree in my backyard. "No idea why. I think it's the worst of the lot."

Em opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again as she realized arguing was futile. I'd always been known for undervaluing my own work- and it wasn't false modesty, either. I honestly had no idea why people praised my work- in my eyes, my paintings were nothing special.

Em handed back the paintings and eyed me, suspicious. "So how exactly did you get that key? As far as I know, it's kinda against the rules to be in a classroom after hours."

"Copied the janitor's."

"How much time do you actually spend in here?"

"I spend Ancient History in here, and some lunchtimes."

"You skip class?"

I winked. "Don't tell anyone."

She shook her head, looking amused. "Wow, you're really serious, aren't you?"

I shrugged, then jumped as the bell went off. "Oops, gotta go!"

We quickly put everything back in it's place and hurried out. Locking the door behind me, I waved as we separated and made our ways to our first classes of the term.

* * *

**_Finally finished! It's taken me forever to rewrite this chapter. I'm happy with how it turned out though._**

**_Review, and tell me what you think!_**


	2. It Takes Love

**_I suppose I should have mentioned this last chapter: Credit for cover art goes to Leslie the Sorceress :)_**

**_I know I don't write a lot of details. As a result, events in the story will move relatively quickly. I'm sure this won't be a problem, but I'd love to hear from anyone who has any writing tips to share._**

**_Anyway, on with the story :) _**

* * *

Sometimes it's hard to smile  
You keep looking back, searching for somebody  
Who once was in your life  
Baby, let him go now, there'll be something better ahead

It takes love to make love  
You can't hide behind your broken heart  
It takes love to make love  
Let the light of another lover shine on you

We all have tears to cry but there comes a day  
To leave your tears behind you  
And give your heart some place to start  
And if you find your way there  
There'll be someone waiting for you.

'It Takes Love'- Styx.

* * *

The day passed slowly, mostly with me staring at the clock through Maths Prevoc, Science, and English Comm. Even Visual Art was boring, with the teacher simply going through everything we had learned the term before. Ancient History was a breeze- once I knew that we were doing Ancient Egypt, I managed to sneak out when the teacher's back was turned. Oh, the privileges of sitting at the back of the room in the desk nearest the door! I spent the session in the old art-room, arranging my pencils for a still-life and generally moping.

Music was the last session of the day, and as I heard the bell, I considered skipping that, too. I was tired, and it didn't help that the classroom was on the other end of the school. But, figuring that if I didn't at least appear I would get in trouble, I dragged myself out of the art-room and started the walk to the music room.

Approaching the door, I heard the loud voice of Miss Basso and realized with a sinking feeling that I was late. Damn, that probably meant the only seats left were at the front. I eased the door open and peered in, and my eyes widened in surprise. No, the seats up front were taken. And so were all of them except for one at the back, which was strangely vacant. But that never happened except when the person in the next seat was-

Oh.

Ok.

I took a deep breath and tiptoed in, earning a glare from Miss Basso for being late, and gingerly sat down in the chair next to Quasimodo, who was sitting slumped with his face hidden. I took the opportunity while I was arranging my stuff to get another good look at him, and winced as I looked at his back. _Damn he's crooked. But his arms are huge- he's probably really strong. What the hell were his parents on when he was conceived to make him look like that?_

"Michigan Greene! So glad you could join us."

I spun my head to face the teacher, her loud voice having startled me from my thoughts. I had no idea how old Miss Basso was, but she couldn't have been any older than 25. Dark-skinned, petite and personally one of my favourite teachers, her stern voice didn't match her slight frame, but it helped her to keep order in class. Short she may have been, but I think everyone was scared of her. Rumour had it that she was seeing one of the Senior teachers, but I didn't believe it, since he was a lot older than her and already had a wife. But nothing's impossible, right?

"Name one characteristic of Folk music."

I opened my mouth, racking my brain for the answer, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Culture...?"

Miss Basso raised an eyebrow, decreasing my confidence by about 100 percent. She may have been my favourite teacher, but that didn't do anything to quench my fear of her. "Care to elaborate?"

I tried to remember the unit from last term. "The music is related to national culture. It's... um... culturally particular; from a particular region or culture."

Satisfied, she nodded curtly. "Right. Please try to be more punctual next time."

I nodded meekly. "Yes miss."

As she moved off to torture someone else, I heaved a sigh of relief and turned to the back of my notebook, where there were pages and pages of mindless doodles, random song lyrics and bit and pieces from my stories. I had chapter parts strewn through all my notebooks, confusing the teachers sometimes when they turned up on the back of my homework. That went hand in hand with the Gallifreyan symbols and Star Trek badges that I drew in the margins of my notes. Overall, my stuff was always cluttered with drawings, and the teachers had learned long ago to ignore the 'pointless rubbish'.

While I idly doodled flowers in my notebook, my mind and eventually eyes wandered back to the boy sitting next to me. Curious, I peered through my curtain of hair, trying to get another glimpse of his face. Unlike everyone else, I wasn't grossed out by Quasimodo's appearance- it was more like a horrible fascination to me. I parted my hair, allowing me to see better, and looked closer. _Well, he maybe be ugly, but he's got cute little ears... and he's definitely very strong..._ I thought back to our previous encounter and smiled to myself. _And he has the greenest eyes I've ever seen..._

Suddenly realizing what I was doing, I straightened up and stared straight in front, trying to follow what the teacher was saying- or trying to distract myself from thinking about Quasimodo again. _Of all the guys I could've been thinking about, I had to choose the ugly one. God, how embarrassing._

"...and I hope you've all been paying attention because there will be a test on Wednesday." Miss Basso looked at the clock and gazed around the class. "No homework for today. That's all. Welcome back to school, people." The bell rang, and I looked down at my notebook, which was empty except for a flower border. _Paying attention... right..._ Shaking my head, I gathered up my stuff and walked out the door with everyone else, pleased that the school day was finally over.

* * *

It was a few weeks into term, and everyone had settled into their usual routines. My back-to-school depression had faded as I began to enjoy my schoolwork- creative writing in English and a painting unit in Art. Maths was, as always, more annoying than informative, History classes were never attended, and nothing much was happening in Music, although Miss Basso had darkly hinted at upcoming special projects. I didn't know whether to dread or look forward to it.

My seat in Music had become a permanent fixture, since Quasimodo always took the same seat and no-one else wanted to sit next to him. Surprisingly, I had only copped a minute amount of teasing for this, which I could easily ignore, although sometimes I wondered if it would be different if Esme was sitting there. No one would dare tease her, no matter what she did.

We had all been shocked by Esme Azarola's seeming transformation. As the class bully through primary and high school, she had always been the first to single out fresh meat for her yearly torture. In junior primary, she had quickly established herself as top-dog, and even I hadn't escaped her target- my first and second grade memories were mostly of her and her girlfriends, Sky and Chloe Cook, cornering me in the toilets, stealing my ball and being generally mean. Thankfully my friends and I hadn't been in her sights for a long time, and we hoped it would stay that way.

But now! It seemed that whenever Quasimodo was in trouble, she was there to help him out, whether it be to pick up his books or stand up for him in class. Rumour had it that she had blown off the boys to help him reorganize his locker after someone trashed it. Was it possible that the resident mean-girl was turning over a new leaf?

"I don't believe it." Dez shook her head, looking skeptical. "No-one changes that fast,_ especially_ not her."

It was lunchtime, and we were grouped around the unused half-court on the far oval. Dez was surrounded by pieces of her clarinet, which she was busy cleaning, while I tried to twirl a basketball on my finger and eat at the same time. The other sat around, watching us or eating.

"I bet she's using him."

Em rolled her eyes at Bex. "Duh, that much is obvious, but what for?"

"What could she possibly hope to gain by befriending the school freak?

"It's gotta have something to do with the dance. By now she's usually busy plotting her moves."

"I guess we'll find out at the end of the month." I stood up and kicked my lunchbag to the side. "Are you guys finished? I wanna get some practice in."

Grumbling, Dez shifted her broken up instrument, while the others got up to join me.

"Come on, Dez, make it an even team!"

She glared at us but quickly put her instrument away and joined us anyway, and pretty soon we were playing a rowdy game of basketball.

* * *

It was 3:1, my team (me and Dez) FTW, when a rebound bounced out of the court and into the hands of Phoebus James.

My mood was popped like a balloon as he lined up the shot and effortlessly tossed it through the hoop from the edge of the court. _He taught me that._ Not only that, but he caught it and refused to give it back.

"Aw, c'mon Phoebus!" Em leaped for the ball, but was easily side-stepped. "Give us the ball!"

"Yeah, shouldn't you be fawning over your darling Esme?" I teased.

He tossed his blond hair and looked over at me tauntingly. "You know you're just jealous."

"Not in your life!" I shot back bitterly. Watching him take another shot, I looked at the ground and shrugged like I didn't care. "It doesn't matter, guys. Come on."

Dez and Em looked at me in surprise, then grabbed their lunches and moved to follow me, but Bex stood her ground. "Give it back, please."

He began to dribble the ball from one hand to the other, a glint in his eye. "See if you can get it, little 9th grader."

For a moment it looked like Bex was going to back down, but then, quick as lightening, she kicked him in the shin. Taken by surprise and pain, he dropped the ball, which she promptly snatched up.

"Thanks," she simpered sweetly, and skipped over to us, where we went about congratulating her.

Phoebus glared at us. "Damn, Michi, your friends are fierce!"

I froze, and slowly turned to face him. "Don't call me Michi."

His eyes widened. "C'mon, you're not still-"

"I said don't."

"Mich-"

"I SAID DON'T!" I stepped back and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "Don't even talk to me, James, ok? I don't wanna hear anything you have to say. Not any more." I turned, grabbing Dez's sleeve. "Let's go, girls."

And, surprised by what they had seen, they followed me.

* * *

Bex, the only one not aware of what had just happened, was quick to bring it up once we reached the lockers. "So what was that about?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." I put my basketball in and took out my books for the next few classes, slamming the door shut. "Let's say we have a history and leave it at that, ok?"

"Ok."

I knew Dez would probably fill her in later, so I didn't bother continuing. "Good. Now, I think I'll go to music early, if it's ok with you guys."

"Sure, but why music?"

"Cuz the art-room's too far away. See ya." Not bothering to hang around for a response, I trudged away, lost in my own thoughts.

It was hard not to get emotional whenever I had some kind of interaction with the guy I swore I'd never speak to again. I was feeling confused and moody and angry and weepy, which in turn made me even more angry with myself. I had always wanted to be tough, to be that girl who doesn't need a man to complete her. I always scorned at those girls who were boy-obsessed, but the truth was I still couldn't stop thinking about Phoebus. I wasn't still in love with him, no way; or that's what I told myself, anyway. I honestly wasn't sure how I felt. All I knew was that I was still upset about the way he had treated me, and I desperately wanted my pathetic-ness to end. But it didn't look like anything was going to change any time soon.

I entered the classroom and started heading to my usual back seat before realizing that one- the room was practically empty so I could sit wherever I wanted, and two- Quasimodo was also there already. With Esme.

He was sitting straight (or as straight as one with a hunch could be) and listening attentively to what she was saying, a peculiar glow lighting up his features_._ Esme saw me and looked away, deeming me unimportant, and turned back to Quasimodo as I found a seat somewhere in the middle. "So you'll come?"

He nodded eagerly, and she smiled and turned to go, hardly sparing me a glance. Quasimodo watched her go, and I was struck by how transfixed he seemed to be with her. I was sure he never caught a glimpse of her face as she left the room, but I saw the sneer of disgust that came over it as soon as she moved away. It made me angry that she was playing with his feelings like that, but at the same time, I wondered why I should care. He was just another poor, unsuspecting freak who was perfect for tormenting. It happened all the time. Why should now be any different?

Oh, who was I kidding. Of course I cared. I cared every time to saw Esme Azarola dedicate herself to another being's ruin. But there was nothing I could do about it. I wasn't about to stick my neck out for some kid, no matter how little he deserved what was happening to him. I was invisible, and I liked it that way.

* * *

_A group project?_ I groaned inwardly as Miss Basso began handing out the sheets. I had never liked working in a group and I worked a lot better on my own_. I don't suppose I can ask to work alone?_

"Now, I'm going to call out your names and put you into pairs. Then you'll have 30 seconds to find your partner and sit with them." She held up the roll. "Tiffany Amour and Jackson Bast. Holly Burns and Joycelyn Byron…"

_Great, we don't even get to choose our partners. _I leaned my head on my hand and stared at a spot on my desk, no longer interested in anything.

"Maxine Dalton and Hope Dixon. Quasimodo Frollo and Michigan Greene. Bella Houston…"

I looked over at Quasimodo, not knowing how to view this development. Sitting next to him a few times a week was one thing, but how much social suicide was being his partner going to be? _Since when have you cared about social suicide? _a little voice whispered in my mind. I considered this carefully before coming to a conclusion- never.

I shrugged and turned my chair in his direction. _What the hell. Let's do this._

* * *

**_Coming up, Mich and Quasi's first conversation._**

**_Drop a review?_**


	3. The Start of Something New

**_Chapter 3!_**

**_I'm on a roll today._**

**_Here Quasi and Mich will have their first conversation and then some unnecessary details about Mich's family that I didn't want to take out because I had nothing to substitute it with. Oh well. Hope you still like it :)_**

* * *

This is the start of something beautiful  
This is the start of something new  
You are the one who'd make me lose it all  
You are the start of something new, ooh

You are the earth that I will stand upon  
You are the words that I will sing  
This is the start of something beautiful  
You are the start of something new

'This'- Ed Sheeran

* * *

I studied the paper in front of me, biting my lip as I read the questions on the top half of the page. Miss Basso had decided that the first thing to do would be a get-to-know-you activity, just to break the ice between the new pairs. All of us had separated into pairs and were now quietly interviewing each other, and the soft murmuring was soothing as I tried to not to freak out. It wasn't being Quasimodo's partner that scared me. It was having to talk to someone I didn't know. As an introvert, meeting new people was one of the most difficult things I had to face. Striking up a conversation with another introvert would be even harder. I mean, I could barely keep up small talk with my friends. _Fat lot of good sitting somewhere else was- I ended up next to him again anyway._ Shrugging to myself, I took a deep breath and turned to Quasimodo, determined to try.

"OK, full name, already know that." I wrote 'Quasimodo Frollo' in the space. "And age. 16, right?" He nodded, and I wrote it down. "Ok, so, do you play a musical instrument?"

"Yes," he said, and I was struck by the hoarseness of his voice, like he was unused to speaking. From the few times I had seen him the term before, I could readily believe that. So far, I hadn't seen him speak to anyone. "I-I play guitar."

"Cool, me too!" For a moment, I was strangely excited that we had something in common. "But I'm not that great at it. What about you? Are you any good?"

He shifted, shrugging non-committedly. "I don't know."

"Ok then." I looked at the list, reading the next few questions to myself. "Favourite music genre?"

"Uh… rock?"

I wrote it down, even though he didn't sound very sure. "Favourite singer or band with this genre?"

He cleared his throat, staring at his desk, mumbling his answer, and I had to lean in to hear him. "Don't really know any."

"Really?" I tried to think of some famous rock bands, but could only come up with a few. "Do you know Guns'n'Roses?" He shook his head. "What about Queen?" Another shake. "KISS? The Beatles? Totally different music styles, I know, but they're all rock." He was silent, and I was beginning to think he's never heard any music at all. "I think Elvis was rock. To tell the truth, I'm not really into rock, although I like Styx. They're pretty awesome, actually. I don't suppose you've heard of them either?"

To my surprise, the name seemed to give him a jolt of recognition.

"Do you know them?"

He nodded.

Suddenly excited again, I turned to face him properly. "Finally! None of my friends have ever heard of them, and no-one knows what I'm talking about when I mention them. But how come you know them but none of the more famous ones?"

"My mother…" He trailed off, then cleared his throat and started again. "My mother… had some CDs… that she played for me. When I was younger."

"Your mum's got great taste, then."

"Had."

I cocked my head, confused. "What?"

"Had great taste." He looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time. "She's dead now."

"Oh." Once again, I found myself staring into his gorgeous greens eyes, and had to hurriedly pull myself back. "I-I'm sorry, I had no idea."

He looked away. "Didn't expect you to."

I bit my lip and quickly turned back to the questions, a little taken aback and not knowing what to make of it. Part of me was amazed that we were having an actual conversation, but another part was completely bewildered by the whole thing. For one thing, I so wasn't used to talking to boys. Or strangers, for that matter. And I had no idea how to comfort someone, or whether to do it at all. On top of that, I was partnered with the biggest outcast in the whole school, and I didn't know if I would get away with it for long. The awkwardness was coming from every quarter, and I think we were both feeling it. I would've stopped our interview there but for the fact that these questions and answers were supposed to be handed in, so we continued on, albeit a little quickly. By the time I had finished, the bell was ringing and he still hadn't interviewed me yet. So I grabbed his sheet, wrote in my answers and passed it back, then exited as swiftly as possible, trying not to think about the most awkward conversation in the whole world.

* * *

The rest of the day passed slowly, and I was grateful when it was over. Later that night, while I was doing homework in my room, Angie slouched in and flopped down on my bed.

Angelina was 13, the second oldest after me. She and I were completely different, and that meant that we usually got along a lot better than the others. She was olive-skinned, a lot more tanned than me, with honey-brown hair, small hazel eyes and full lips. She was a lot less developed than me when I was her age, which I teased her about sometimes, but on the plus side, she was a lot slimmer and about 100 time more athletic. She also had some symptoms of Aspergers, which made her act strangely sometimes, and all she seemed to care about was sports and violin. She was so unlike the rest of us that we sometimes joked that she was an alien from another planet. Never caring about our teasing, she often played up to these accusations, which made this annoying but lovable girl my second-favourite sister.

Now, though, I barely acknowledged her presence as she entered the room. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"To tired for that." She examined her nails, making me jealous of her perfect hands. They were long a slim and soft, whereas mine were stumpy and boyish, and my nails were horrible from a childhood of biting them. "Highschool is so hard."

"Welcome to my world." I chucked a ball of paper at her head, deciding to take a break from maths. "Don't you have homework?"

"Did it all at lunch."

"Lucky you. How was your day?"

She made a face. "Rubbish. Hey, have you seen that really ugly new guy?"

"Who, the redhead with the hunch?" I nodded, suddenly feeling guarded. "Yeah, he's in my music class. Actually, I'm sitting next to him."

"Really? Is he just as disgusting up close, or worse?"

I pursed my lips, trying not to go off at her for being so mean. "I don't know, I don't look that close."

"True," she said, nodding innocently. "I guess no-one could bear to get up close to him. Does he stink, too?"

"No, he doesn't stink, Angie." I gritted my teeth. "Why would you ask something like that?"

"Dunno, it was just a thought."

"Well, maybe you should keep your thoughts to yourself."

She rolled over, looking at me in surprise. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. You were just being a bit mean, that's all."

"But he _is_ ugly."

"I know, but that doesn't mean you have to comment on it. He probably gets enough of that from everyone else."

"Fine, whatever." Angie chucked the paper back at me and sat up. "Oh, by the way, nanna wants your washing basket, cuz she's dong a load tomorrow."

"Ok, thanks." I turned back to my book, tuning her out. "God this maths is retarded. I swear I wont use any of this after highschool."

"I know," Angie agreed, getting up to leave. "I guess I'll leave you to it. See-ya."

"See-ya."

* * *

After she had left, I sat for a while, distracting myself by trying to balance a pencil on my nose and thinking about nothing at all. The sounds of my family echoed through the house, and I idly wondered why the little ones weren't in bed yet. I had 3 other sister besides Angie, all younger than me.

Del, short for Delenn, was next down from Angie, 11 years old and a complete airhead. Like me she had brown hair and freckles, but her eyes were grey and she was thin as a rake. A genius at music and maths, but everything else seemed so much harder to her. She reminded me of a fairy, weak and sensitive with her head in the clouds. Sometimes I wondered if she had learnt anything from living with us, since we had been trying to toughen her up for years.

Rose was next, 7 years old and very clingy. She had Del's hair and eyes, but her looks were her own, and she was cleverer than she sometimes let on. I shared my bedroom with her, and overall she was a nice, quiet room-mate.

Kate was the youngest, 4 years old and the most adorable little girl I'd ever seen. Although she was smaller than a lot of kids her age, she was by no means backward, being extremely articulate and able to recognise colour, numbers and most letters by sight at age 3. Her grown-up way of talking often had us in stitches, but we had to be careful about what we said around her, since she tended to pick up whatever she heard and parrot it back in the most inappropriate situations. She had my brown hair and eyes but promised to be a lot prettier than me, which I was completely fine with since she was my favourite sister.

So you see, my house really was packed to the rafters, housing 5 girls, my parents and my grandma in 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms in a house that never seemed to be clean. My parents were quite used to double than number of girls in the holidays, when the 3 oldest had our friends over, and during those times everything turned into a free-for-all.

My life may not have been typical, but it was mine, and I loved it.

I was interrupted from my mental wanderings by Rose, who came in to get dressed for bed.

"Mum and dad are watching Star Trek," she announced, throwing her arms around me for a goodnight hug.

I hugged and kissed her and grabbed my book. "Which one?"

"Next Gerneration."

I leaped up with a hurried 'goodnight' and headed for the lounge room, hoping they would let me do my homework in front of the telly.

This was my life, and I was happy.

* * *

Amid the typing of keyboards and the soft murmurings of idle chatter, I tried to balance my laptop on my lap as I searched through the many books on my desk. Our 3rd music project was an essay about a particular band and it's musical style, and we have been allowed to choose our favourites. Now, everyone was researching and collecting information- except me. Having found a few helpful websites and already knowing enough about my singer to write the essay, I was now looking to update my stories, hence the pawing through notebooks. I had 5 of them, full of study notes and other things, with bits of chapters and stories scattered throughout, so it was a real challenge to find my updates.

Next to me, Quasimodo was typing madly. Our small chat seemed to have opened the floodgates to his research, and it gave my a strange kind of satisfaction to see him enjoying it. Since that last time, even though we sat next to each other in music and his locker was right next to mine, we hadn't spoken another word to each other. But now i felt the urge to make conversation. I wouldn't have been ashamed to admit that i was deadly curious about him, but i also felt sort of protective towards him. Although I had promised myself not to interfere with outcast- for my own protection, i might add- the fact was i wanted to be his friend. And since Esme had been showing an interest in him, no major bullying had been going on beside the usual teasing and a few silly pranks. I had nothing to fear.

I don't mind saying right now that my reasonings were almost purely selfish.

But right now, my natural shyness was getting in the way again. Last time communication had been compulsory to complete the assignment. Now, I had no idea how to start. As I hurriedly leafed through my notebooks, I tried to come up with a conversation starter._ I could ask him if he's going to the dance... no, he might think I'm fishing for an invite. Ask about his mum? No, that might seem impolite. How the hell do you talk to a guy who doesn't talk himself?_ A notebook slid off the pile and fell on the floor, disturbing the quiet, and Miss Basso looked up from marking assignments to eyeball me. I meekly picked it up and retreated behind my laptop. She may have been my favorite teacher, but that didn't mean she didn't terrify me.

I opened the book and it seemed to magically fall open on the page I wanted- a page that was now smeared with jammy handprints and wobbly stick-figures. Rose's handiwork. I sighed and propped it up on the desk, then started copying the words into my document, squinting sometimes to be able to read it. And then I realized how to start the conversation.

"So, um, Quasimodo?"

He stopped typing, but didn't look over.

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" I continued typing, waiting for his answer.

For a moment I thought he hadn't heard, but at length he spoke. "No."

"Just you and your dad, then?"

"Yes."

"Ok." Already feeling awkward enough, I didn't say anything else for a little while. I felt like such a dork, but I wasn't going to completely give up just yet. "I have 4 sisters."

He cleared his throat. "Th-that's a lot."

"Yeah." I leaned closer to the book, trying to make something out. "So, uh, do you have a favourite movie?"

"I-I don't watch T-TV."

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? Lots of time to practice guitar, then?"

"Yes."

"Cool." I was getting the knack of this. "Where were you before you came here?"

"Ipswich."

"Really? I lived there for about 10 years. What did you think of it?"

He shrugged.

"People say it's a rough place, but I liked living there. Might be just me, though." I paused, thinking of the next question. "Um... So why did you move here?"

To my surprise, Quasimodo tensed up, refusing to answer, and a moment later was furiously banging on his keyboard again. I looked at him, then shrugged and went back to my own computer. "Sorry, bad question."

We went on typing for the next few minutes. Finishing my chapter, I saved it and pulled my earphones out of my bag, then pulled up my music folder. While I plugged in the devices and tried to decide on Taylor Swift or Dennis Deyoung, Quasimodo finished typing and sat there staring at the screen, and I waited for him to speak.

"I-I was bullied."

I looked at him, this revelation not surprising at all. "Oh?"

He looked down at his lap, thick fingers fidgeting nervously. "Th-they s-said horrible things, a-and they hurt me. The t-teachers, t-too. So my f-father decided to m-move us away."

I bit my lip, unsure of how to react. "I'm sorry. Was... was it Bundamba?"

"Yes."

I nodded. "My friend goes there, and she says it's a pretty bad school. I can understand why you were-"

He looked at me, understanding at once what I was about to say and accepting it with a defeated air. It put me off-guard, and I hurriedly tried to correct myself.

"Not that... I mean, I wasn't saying... You're not... Ah, damn." I buried my head in my hands, mortified.

"D-don't be embarrassed." He looked at his hands again. "I-I am ugly. I kn-know it. I-I've kn-known it s-since I w-was little. Every s-school I go t-to, I-I g-get bullied f-for it." He paused, frowning slightly. "Except here. I n-not t-treated nearly as b-bad here."

"To be honest, it surprises me too." Having recovered from my embarrassment, I decided to address the subject I had been wondering about. "Take Esme for example. She's being really nice to you, but she's not usually like that. She's been a bully for as long as I can remember. Every year she picks someone, usually a new guy, to torment and humiliate. It seems so strange to see her being kind to anyone, especially someone-" I stopped and looked down, embarrassed again, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"S-someone like me? I-it's ok, you can say it."

Not seeing any other way to word it, I reluctantly agreed with him. "Yes, I was going to say that. I don't mean to be rude, but it's just that I'm not used to seeing Esme like this."

"She is nice." Quasimodo's eyes got a far-away look in them, and I began to realize how much this girl was having an effect on him. "Sh-she's kind, and p-pretty, and p-probably the nicest p-person I've ever met."

I had nothing to say to that. I hadn't recently seen enough of Esme to make a determination of character, but everyone knew she was beautiful. Tanned skin, long thick black hair, large dark eyes that rivaled mine, a gorgeous size 6 figure and a chest that looked fake- there weren't many ways to look good in our uniforms, but she managed it easily. It was probably safe to say that she was the envy of every girl in the school, including the entire squad of anorexic blondes who called themselves cheerleaders.

"I suppose," I said finally.

He looked at me, surprised. "I d-didn't think about it before, b-but you're t-talking to me. Why?"

I shrugged. "I guess... I want to be your friend."

"Why?"

"Because you're different." I met his gaze, smiling a little. "And I've never been afraid of different."

He nodded slightly and looked away. "M-maybe i've finally..."

"Found a place you can belong?" I put in my earphones and selected a track. Music blared into my ears. "I hope so."

We were silent for the rest of the lesson, but I felt that I had found, if not a friend, then at least an acquaintance in him.

But his comment about her being the nicest person he had ever met stuck with me. As the bell rang and we packed up our things, I thought it over. The more smitten Quasimodo seemed to get, and the better he was treated, the more I wondered about Esme's real motives. And I desperately hoped that whatever she was planning wasn't going to hurt him too much.

I also, though I would never had admitted it, felt a teensy bit of jealousy.

But that was a thought that I immediately buried, not wanting to confront any feelings for anyone as yet. Making friends with an outcast was always a sure way to get picked on yourself, and although I did want to be his friend I wasn't prepared to do anything other than talk. I wasn't ready to give up my invisibility just yet.

* * *

**_I know Mich seems kinda selfish, but eventually she'll change. Not yet, though. _**

**_Tell me what you think?_**


	4. Interactions

_**Couldn't find a song to go with this chapter, so we'll have to go without. Just a filler, nothing really important happens.**_

**_Hope you like :)_**

* * *

**Park Ridge State High School 2013 Concert**

**PLACES NOW OPEN**

**Those interested: see Miss Basso**

**Date: TBA**

**Reiminder-Art students: See Ms Trouillefou for Costume Ball hall decorating**

Dez handed round our muffins, warm from the tuckshop oven, and nudged me as I gazed at the poster. "I'll be playing in the concert, with the senior band. Thinking of entering?"

"Hmm, maybe." I shrugged and took a bite, immediately grimacing at the taste. "Ugh, what is this?"

"Oops, must be mine." Bex examined her wrapper, then mine. "Yep, see, mine's the gluten-free one."

We exchanged packages, just in time for Indianna Brightman, senior, cheer captain and ultimate dumb blonde, and her cheerleader friends to walk by and see. Esme was her idol, so it was no surprise that she delighted in trying to bully everyone.

"Aw, look, the little girls are sharing food now! How cute!" Indi smirked and tried to pat Bex's head. Which, of course, Bex didn't allow. Ducking away, she broke off a piece of her muffin, crumbled it in her hand, and sprinkled it in the blonde girl's hair.

"My hair!" Indi gasped, frantically trying to brush them out. "What the hell, you little freak?"

"Wha-" I was interrupted by Dez, who pushed me roughly and gaze me a look that plainly said 'do not even think about getting involved here', and was forced to hold my tongue. Meanwhile, after scowling evily and muttering threats at Bex, Indi stalked off, probably to the bathroom to finished fixing her hair, and Bex looked quite proud of herself. Dez, however, didn't.

"You shouldn't have provoked her," she scolded Bex, who rolled her eyes. "And you should've just ignored her," she continued, glancing disapprovingly at me.

I sighed, taking one last look at the concert poster before taking a step in the direction of the Music block. "Yes, mum. Just be grateful I didn't end up saying what I was gonna say. Those girls rile me up so much, I swear..."

"Yeah, I know. Where are you going?"

"Practice rooms. You'll never believe it, but Esme invited me to some kind of emergency session."

It was true. I had been coming out of English, minding my own business, when all of a sudden my notebook was snatched out of my hand. I had whirled around to see the gorgeous but terrifying Esme, leaning casually on the wall leafing through the pages. I had immediately protested- that particular notebook contained poetry, quotes and diary entries of a personal nature- but was forced to stand there watching her go through my precious book for a few minutes more. After studying a few pages with interest, she finished and tossed it back to me.

"I heard you were into writing, so I though I'd have a little look-see," she had said, airily pushing her self off the wall and standing over me- not _over me_ as such, for she was shorter than me, but her superior air made her seem taller somehow- with one hand on her hip. "I like what I see. I need you to come to the practice rooms at lunch today, ok?"

"O-ok," I had stammered, clutching my book tightly, confused.

She had smiled her dazzling smile at me, and for a moment I had forgotten that she was a big scary bully capable of anything, but when she abruptly turned on her heel and stalked down the hallway like she owned the place, I was left wondering what the hell had just happened.

Now, as surprise flitted across my friends' faces, I headed for the music block, not knowing what to expect.

* * *

Approaching the building, I heard the sounds of different instruments and the chattering of many voices. Peering through the window, discovered about a third of the senior band present, tuning their instruments and playing bits of songs, while a large group was clustered in front of the whiteboard. _There's Nora- what does she have to do with music? And Helen, and Jo, and Kierra- it looks like half the Drama club's in there too._ I peered closer, trying to make out what they were looking at. All I could see was a bunch of random lines and letters and a hand with a whiteboard marker drawing more on. They all seemed to be talking at the tops of their voices and laughing about nothing in particular, and I was loathe to go in with all those people, but I had been recruited by Esme herself. For some reason they needed me. So I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and opened the door.

The noise hit me like a tidal wave of sound, and I winced as the door shut behind me. If I was here because of my poetry, how was I supposed to write with this collection of guitar, violin, drums, flute, trumpet and voices yelling reverberating in my head?

Suddenly, the gaggle of girls- oops, no, i saw a boy or two in there too- the gaggle of people moved back from the board and spit in two, revealing Esme, pen in one hand, the other on her hip, looking smug and very please with herself. Behind her was what I now recognized as some kind of floor plan for the school hall.

"Ok, people!" she shouted, somehow getting over the wall of noise that everyone else was making. Immediately, instruments and voices alike ceased. "That's better." She smiled at everyone, and her gaze came to rest on me. "Good, poetry-girl's here. You haven't been to a meeting before, so I'll explain what's happening."

I nodded, frowning a little. _Poetry-girl?_

"As probably know, I'm planning the next big Costume Ball prank," she continued. "I've got the subject picked out and I've got the rough outline of the prank. Your job is to write us a song."

"A song?"

"Yes, a song."

I bit my lip, wondering how to get off of this. "I'm assuming that is song has to do with hu- i mean, pranking the subject?"

"Duh." Esme glanced at everyone else, smirking. "It's _about_ the subject."

"And, um, who is the subject?"

"Who do you think? That ugly lump Quasimodo, of course."

My heart gave a great thump, but not with nervousness. This time, I was angry, but I struggled to control it. "What kind of song? I need more info."

"Look, just write the song, ok? Write about how ugly he is, what everyone thinks of him, that kind of thing."

I pursed my lips, resisting the urge to deck her. "I can't."

"What?" Everyone looked at me, surprised, while Esme narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, you can't? It's just poetry. You can write poetry, I've seen it myself."

"I mean, I don't want anything to do with this. I don't want to help you humiliate Quasimodo." I started edging towards the door.

"Hey, come back here." Esme's eyes flashed, and her mouth twisted into a half smirk, half scowl. "What are you, in love with him or something?"

"No." I looked her straight in the eye. "I just refuse to be part of your bullying." And with that, I left, not waiting to see her reaction.

* * *

_"Attention students: Will Michigan Greene please make her way to the office immediately. Michigan Greene, to the office immediately." _

I looked up from copying the sums on the whiteboard into my notebook, surprised at the announcement. I looked at the teacher, who looked displeased but nodded at me as permission to leave. Shrugging, I got up and left the room, heading for the office.

As I walked, I wondered about what had happened in the practice room, wondering if what I had done would bring Esme's wrath upon me. I also wanted to warn Quasimodo not to go to the dance, but even if I could, I doubted he would listen to me. He was too far gone on that girl to believe anything bad about her. Still, I felt I had to try.

I came into view of the office, and pretty soon I was inside, waiting at the desk. The lady behind the computer looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I got called here."

"Are you Michigan?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?"

Her eyes widened, realizing that I thought something bad had happened. "Oh, no, nothing's wrong. I was told to give you a message from home. Apparently your mother isn't able to pick you up this afternoon, so you'll have to wait till 4:30 for your father to pick you up."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. At home time, you'll just have to come to the office and wait for your father here, ok?"

"Ok. Thank you." I nodded and smiled, then turned away and headed out, snorting to myself. Like hell I was going to wait for hours in that stuffy little office.

* * *

Looking around, I walked out the door and headed for the bench outside. It was the end of the day, and instead of going to the office, I was waiting near the unused side door, with a clear view of the road so I could see when Dad came. Watching students rush back and forth at the front of the school, waiting for their own rides, I opened my laptop and brought up my music folder, and pulled a book out of my bag. It was going to be a long wait.

_An hour later..._

Sighing, I put my book away and stretched, looking around. My gaze came to rest on... Quasimodo? Surprised, I wondered when he had appeared and whether he was waiting for his dad too.

Deciding to be friendly, I took out an earphone, waited for him to look over and waved him over, patting the space next to me. He looked unsure for a moment, as if he thought I didn't mean it, but eventually he decided to obey, and I shuffled over to make room for him.

"So, waiting for your dad?" I asked casually as he sat down, taking advantage of the fact that he wasn't looking at me to get another good look at him. I didn't know what fascinated me so much about him, but I wasn't ashamed of my curiosity.

"Yes."

"Me too. Do you wait here every day?"

"Yes."

I nodded and glanced at him, finding him absorbed in staring at the cracks in that ground. Struck with an idea, I went back to my laptop and started searching through folders, hoping I'd find what I was looking for.

Time passed in silence, until finally I hit upon the right folder. With a muffled 'yesss' and a fist pump, I tapped Quasimodo on the shoulder and held out the earphone. He studied it, confused for a second, then slowly took it and looked at me questioningly.

"Put it in your ear," I said, resisting the urge to laugh.

He did, and I highlighted the entire folder and clicked play. Music suddenly blared into our ears, and I watched his face as it changed expression from confused to amazed to happy. I was so absorbed in staring at him that when I snapped out of it, I found that I had been smiling along with him. I shook my head and leaned back, arms crossed, mouthing the words and watching Quasimodo as he enjoyed the music.

Ten songs later, a familiar car pulled up behind the fence, and I paused the music and shrugged at Quasimodo. "That's my ride."

He nodded and gave me back the earphone. I took a moment to pack everything up, then smiled at him before getting up and slinging my bag on my back. "See-ya"

I turned and climbed the fence, then waved and got in the car. Inside, Dad looked at Quasimodo, then at me. "Who's that?"

"Some kid in my class." I leaned back and sighed as Dad pulled out into the traffic.

"Not very good-looking, is he?"

"No." I turned peered back out the window, but we were already to far away. "No, not really. But you know what? I like him anyway."

He looked at me sharply, frowning a little. "Really?"

"Not like that, you big doofus." I shook my head at my father and his over-protectiveness. "He's just a friend, Dad."

"Good."

I smiled, eyes on the traffic. "So, how was work?"

* * *

**_You don't have to review this chapter if you don't want to. It is kinda boring. Hopefully the next one with be more interesting :)_**


	5. Someone To Save You

**_Another filler, but hopefully a bit more interesting. Mich goes to Quasi's house and meets Frollo, and she tries to warn him about Esme's plans. _**

**_Enjoy :)_**

* * *

Patience took you for everything  
Looked like a diamond ring  
You are so much longer  
That made sense

Apathy in disguise  
Crept on you like a spy  
Hurt you in ways  
You cant describe

Back to the start now  
I wont let you go this way now

Honesty is what you need  
It sets you free like someone to save you  
Let it go but hurry now  
There's undertow and I don't wanna lose you now.

'Someone To Save You'- One Republic

* * *

The more I thought about it, the more I felt that Quasimodo needed to be warned about Esme's plans.

But not yet. For when I got to school the next day, I found that he wasn't there.

At first, I didn't think much of it. I never saw him in the mornings anyway- it was usually closer to the middle of the day when I saw him walking down the hallway, or only in music class. But as the day progressed, I realized that I just wasn't going to see him today.

For some reason, this fact seemed to put a dampener on my spirits. Although we weren't really friends yet, I had enjoyed seeing the deformed boy every day. I wasn't completely sure why- perhaps it was the fact that he was so shy, and I liked shy people. I didn't have the faintest idea. All I knew was that when I entered music class that Wednesday and saw the empty seat next to mine, I was filled with a heavy sense of disappointment. And I found that that class was the longest it had ever been.

Strolling back to the lockers at lunchtime, I noticed a piece of paper stuck in the grill of Quasimodo's locker. I eyed it curiously, then, checking that nobody was looking, I pulled it out and opened it up. And I gasped as I read what was within.

_Go back to where you came from you ugly freak._

My hands clenched into fists, crumpling the paper, as I struggled to keep my composure. It was difficult, but eventually I regained my myself enough to be able to breath without wanting to strangle the first person I saw. I shoved it deep in my pocket and grabbed my lunch bag, slamming my locker shut with as much force as I could, and went to lunch.

* * *

I was still boiling when I sat down at our table.

"Whoa, what's wrong with you?" Dez asked as I plonked myself down on the seat, staring at my angry face with concern.

I looked at my friends and let out a frustrated sigh, pulling the crumpled note out of my pocket. "Guess what I found in Quasimodo's locker?"

Dez took it and stared, open-mouthed, at the spiteful words. Bex snatched it off her, read it, and passed it wordlessly to Em, who passed it back to me.

"How friggin horrible is that?" I asked, my voice going up a notch as the silence stretched out.

"Mich!" Dez reproched.

I gave her a look. "I didn't swear, Dez, but I feel like it. I'm just so angry right now-"

"I know." She nodded, frowning. "I agree that it's mean and hateful, and I'm glad you got to it before he did. But there's no point in getting upset."

"How did you get into his locker, anyway?" Bex asked.

"It was in the grill. Honestly, the nerve of some people-"

"But, to be fair, I can kinda see why they do it. I mean, he is ugly, and you know how much everyone like to pick on something different."

"Emma Smith, are you excusing whoever did this?"

"No, of course not, but I'm just saying, it's understandable-"

"How could you be so cruel?" I cried, glaring at her. "You sound like you don't even care about this at all?"

"And why should I?" she shot back. "What's it to me if some dude get's bullied for his looks? It happens all the time! To tell you the truth I'm just glad it's not me. I'm happy being invisible. You sound like you a care a bit too much about this."

"Mich," Dez said softly as I prepared a retort, "I know you don't like to see anyone be bullied- neither do we. But you've seen it before and it never bothered you like this. Why are you so concerned about this guy?"

"Cuz we're friends." I looked at their shocked faces and corrected myself. "Well, not friends yet, but he's my music partner. We've chatted a few times, and I like him. I can't bear the fact that he's being bullied cuz he's ugly. The poor guy can't help it."

"Well, just remember this." Em stared intently at me. "You can be as friendly as you want with him in class, but hanging out with him will make you a target, which will make us targets too."

"Not necessarily," Dez corrected. "Be friends with him if you want, Mich. But **don't** get involved. I mean it."

"You know I want to stay out of everyone's way as much as you do. I won't get involved." I ripped up the note and dropped the pieces on the ground, faking a smile.

But I think I knew it wouldn't be as easy as that.

* * *

Closing my locker at the end of the next day, I found myself being accosted by one of the sub teachers from another class, her arms full of paperwork.

"Michigan Greene, is it?"

"Yeah," I answered, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder and looking at her curiously.

"I'm Miss Cabala, subbing for 2nd period English. One of the students in my class has been away yesterday and today, and the music teacher said you're his partner in music."

"Quasimodo?"

"Yes, that's him. I have all the homework he missed from all his classes, and since you're friendly with him, I was wondering if you could drop it off at his house so that he could catch up?"

I raised my eyebrows, surprised. "I don't even know where he lives!"

"I have the address right here." The teacher shuffled the papers around and pulled out a sheet with an address on it. "Of course, if it's too much out of your way I could ask someone who lives closer to him, but I just thought since you two know each other-"

"No, this is ok." I nodded and smiled, wondering how on earth this girl got a teaching job. She was so awkward! "That's just Boronia Heights. I know where it is, it's not too far. I'll take them to him."

"Good!" Miss Cabala took out a sheath of papers and handed it to me. "Sorry, if I put you out or anything-"

"No, no, don't worry, it's fine." I checked my watch. "Thanks for that. I have to go now."

She said goodbye and left, and I hurried out, looking for the car. Getting in, I told mum where we had to go, and we headed out.

* * *

I looked at the address I had been given and pointed to a street sign. "That's it. I think it's the house up the end."

Mum drove slowly up the street and pulled up outside a house, wrinkling her nose. "Are you sure it's the right address?"

I checked. "14 Notre-Dame Court, Boronia Heights. Yep, this is the place." I grabbed the bundle of folders and opened the door. "I'll be right back."

As I approached the little fence and half-heartedly rattled the rusty gate, I could see why mum was skeptical. The first thing I saw was the police car in the driveway. But that wasn't the only thing. Weeds wound around the hinges of the gate, making it virtually impossible to open, and as I climbed over and landed in the yard, the grass came up to my knees. Walking up to the almost invisible path, I winced as I kicked a bottle. The whole yard was messy and overgrown, littered with glass bottles of every colour, shape and size, some broken, some whole. What looked like a broken-down bike and a few rusty oil barrels added to the mess, and the pavers I walked on were crumbly and uneven. The house itself was falling to pieces, too- holes had rusted in the tin roof, and Trying to ignore the fear of snakes and who knew what else that might be hiding in the grass, I made my way to the door and paused, looking back at the car for reassurance, before knocking on the door.

After a few moments of silence, I knocked again, a little bit louder this time. Just as I thought no-one was coming and I had turned away, the door opened, and I found myself face-to-face with a man.

He had only opened the door a little, but I sized him up in a few seconds. Blood-shot eyes, thin, stubbly face, almost completely bald, holding a bottle... Was this Quasimodo's dad? _Poor him..._

"Whaddaya want?"

I gulped, realizing I was staring. "Oh, right, um, this is for Quasimodo, he hasn't been at school for a few days so they asked me to bring over his homework..." _And if he had been wagging, I just got him in trouble... damn... _I handed over the folders, hoping it wasn't so. "Is he ok?"

The man looked at me sharply, squinting unpleasantly. "What's it to ya?"

My eyes widened, taken aback. "Oh, er, nothing, it's just that he's my music partner and I just wondered if he's been sick or something-"

"He's fine." The man snatched the stuff out of my hands and, after peering behind me, presumably at the car that was still running on the street, slammed the door in my face.

I stood there, a little dazed. "Ok, then..." I turned on my heel and walked back, climbing the fence and jumping in the car, shaking my head. "Weird..."

"How'd it go?" Mum asked as she turned around and headed back the way we came.

"I think that was his dad... rude guy, he slammed the door in my face, and the only things he said were 'whaddya want', 'what's it to ya' and 'he's fine'. I feel sorry for Quasimodo if that's who he has to live with. And the bottles!"

"Who was that?" called a small voice from the back. I turned and smiled at Kate, who was all strapped into her booster seat.

"That was Quasimodo's dad."

"Kazi-modo's dad?"

"That's right."

She thought hard, and I could almost hear the cogs turning in her little brain. "Who's Kazi-modo?"

"My friend from school." Me and mum exchanged looks, grinning at the cuteness.

"He's got a weird name," Kate observed seriously.

"He does, doesn't he?" I sat back in my seat, staring at the road. "Quasimodo is quite the mouthful. Kazi, though... Kazi, Kaz... What do you think, Katie?"

"Kaz?"

I nodded, deciding to put the matter to my friend when I saw him next. "Kaz."

* * *

Which happened to be the next day. Walking into music class that Friday, my heart gave a weird little flip when I saw him sitting in the seat next to mine. I slid into my place and laid all my books out on the table- no clunking and sighs today! I turned towards him, feeling particularly cheerful. "Hey, you've been away." _Well, duh. Just point out the obvious, why don't cha?_ "Feeling better?"

He tensed, staring straight ahead. "What?"

I frowned at his bizarre reaction. "Um, you've been sick, right? So are you feeling any better?"

He relaxed and looked in my direction, not at me but somewhere over my shoulder. "Y-yeah, I guess."

I was about to ask what he had had when I saw it. "Oh!" I peered forward, staring at a bruise on his jaw. "How'd you get that?"

His hand flew protectively to his face and he turned away. "Oh, that? I f-fell."

"On your jaw?" I asked sceptically.

"Yes."

I couldn't help but notice that he had tensed up again. I shrugged and turned away, opening my notebook and flipping through, trying to come up with something else to say. _Well, there was that question about his name..._ "Quasimodo?"

He looked up from the desk. "Yes?"

"That's quite a long name, actually." _Again, stating the obvious. You're a genius, you know that?_ I shook off my demeaning inner monologue and continued. "Ever thought about shortening it?"

"Into w-what?"

"Well, my little sister says your name in a really cute way- Kazi-modo. So I was thinking, what about Kaz?"

He was silent, thinking it over. "H-how does she know my n-name?

"Oh... I dropped off your homework yesterday and she wanted to know whose house it was."

"That was you?"

"Yeah." I quieted down as the lesson began, but a little while later, when we had our laptops open, I continued. "Was the guy that came to the door your dad?"

"Yes."

"Is he a policeman or something? Cuz I saw a police car in the driveway."

"Yes."

"Ok." I shook my head, thinking of the man at the door and his rugged appearance, hoping he was less scary than he looked. _I certainly wouldn't want to live with him..._ "By the way, you didn't answer my question from before."

"W-what question?"

"What do you think of Kaz? As a nickname?"

He took a few moments to think about it. "I... I like it."

I smiled, relieved. "Good. So can I call you that?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

We worked silently after that, doing research, writing down notes, and I managed to snatch time to jot down bits of story into a document. As the end of the lesson drew closer, I suddenly remembered that I had something urgent to tell Quasimodo... but not there.

"I have to tell you something," I whispered, leaning in his direction but not taking my eyes of my screen. "It's important, but I can't say it here. I'll tell you at lunch, ok?"

"Ok."

We both nodded and went back to our work, and I wondered how exactly I was going to word what I had to say...

* * *

"You w-wanted to talk to me?"

I jumped, bashing my head on the bottom of my locker door. I slapped the locker wall and rubbed my head, glaring. "Damn! Don't do that!"

"Oh, I'm sorry..." Quasimodo- Kaz, now- opened his locker and started rummaging around, not looking at me.

I shook my head, picking up my bag and putting it in my locker. "No, it's ok, you just scared me. And yes, I do want to talk to you."

"About what?"

I looked straight at him, knowing I had to be quick. Even though I liked him, I knew that it wouldn't be good for people to see us talking outside of class. "Ok, here's the deal. I was talking to Esme the other day and she said she's planning to do something to you at the Halloween dance. If you were planning on going, I'd say don't. It wouldn't turn out very well."

He frowned. "Esme is kind to me. She would never do anything to hurt anyone."

"Oh, do you really believe that?"

"Yes I do!" Surprisingly, Kaz was starting to get rather animated. "I've s-spent time with her, I've talked to her. She's a nice girl. In fact, she asked me to the dance- as in, a date! I think she likes me."

"Quas- Kaz, Esme does not like you!" I knew what I was saying sounded mean, but he needed to know the truth, and this was the only way I could think of telling him. "She's only pretending! She wants to mock and humiliate you in front of everyone, because that's what she does. You have to believe me, she could never like you the way you want her to!"

"And why not?" He looked around and lowered his voice to an intense whisper. "Tell me! Is it because I'm ugly? Because I limp? Because I have a hunch? No, I've found that the world isn't all as shallow as that. Esme _likes me_. That's something that's never happened before, and I'm not going to let you ruin the one good thing that's ever happened to me!"

My eyes widened at his furious speech. He had never spoken so many words together before, nor had he ever cared so much about something as he did this. I was about to apologize and defend myself when footsteps came up behind me, and I felt a presence behind my back.

"Ready for lunch?" Esme asked him, completely ignoring me.

"Yes." Kaz took his bag out of his locker and started rummaging around, looking for his lunch.

"Well hurry up, we don't have all day."

I turned to look at her- arms crossed, striking a pose she probably thought was sexy or something. I had envied her looks for so long, the feeling of sadness when I looked at her hair seemed natural. But I forced myself to stop and turn back, refusing to envy her now. I hated her too much for that. Beside me, Kaz found his lunch and put his bag back in the locker, moving to close it. I had to do something, at least apologise for what he thought I was trying to do.

I turned to him and raised a hand, drawing his attention."Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I'm just trying to warn you-"

He glared at me and shut his locker. "I don't need your warnings!" With that, he turned around and left, him and Esme weaving through the students that had begun to congregate in the hallway, leaving me staring at his misshapen, retreating back.

What was meant to be a friendly warning had been blown wildly out of proportion. Did he honestly think I was trying to wreck everything for him? Was he really so blind as to believe that Esme actually cared for him? Obviously, yes. I let out a long breath, angry at me, him, Esme, everyone, and closed my eyes, trying to calm down. _I came to give a warning and that warning has been given. It is no longer any of my concern..._ I slapped the wall in annoyance and straightened up, zipping up my bag and heading into the crowds of students. Kaz was my friend and he was going to get hurt by a bitch who was leading him on with the express purpose of showing him up in front of everyone. Not my concern?

_The hell it isn't._

* * *

**_Wasn't sure which song to use with this chapter. Hope it works._**

**_Quasi's nickname is inspired by some fanart for a Disney RPG._**

**_Leave a review?_**


	6. Last Summer

**_A week and a half till the holidays, yay! It's winter over here, and nights are getting colder. It was freezing last night. Not cold enough for snow, we never get that here, but still damn cold._**

**_Ok, ok, enough about the weather. Here's the next chapter, just another filler before the actual plot happens. Read on!_**

* * *

It happened one summer  
It happened one time  
It happened forever  
For a short time  
A place for a moment  
An end to dream  
Forever I loved you  
Forever it seemed

One summer never ends  
One summer never began  
It keeps me standing still  
It takes all my will  
And then suddenly  
Last summer

'Suddenly, Last Summer'- The Motels.

* * *

All Friday I was stalking Quasi and Esme. I followed them at a discrete distance, tried to eavesdrop on them, tried to figure out what Esme was doing. When she wasn't with him, she was in the music room with her cronies, planning out her prank. I had tried to spy on them, as well. All to no avail. The room was guarded. All I knew was the prank would take place on the stage and required buckets, ropes and pulleys. I could only imagine what was going to happen.

Days passed, and all too soon the weekend was over.

Monday passed quietly, but I could feel the buzz in the air as people talked about the costumes they'd wear and speculated about the entertainment. Our art class was briefed on the materials and designs that would be used in decorating the hall the next day. I was a vessel of pent-up nervous energy, still angry from Friday but also filled with dread and a strange restlessness. Anyone else would think I was excited, but my friends recognized it for what it really was- the urge to tell an important secret. Only here, no-one would listen if I tried. Especially not the person it was meant for.

In music class, Kaz didn't even acknowledge my existence, and was too abashed by our last 'discussion' to try to speak to him. So we passed the entire lesson staring at our computers, the teacher, our books. Anywhere but at each other.

Lunchtime, I was forced by my own curiosity to watch as Esme flirted shamelessly with him, and he basked in the attention. The urge to bash his head against the wall, shake him, slap him around, hadn't disappeared, and the urge to strangle Esme, or drop a brick on her head, had intensified. In my illogical state I felt they both deserved it, but there was nothing I could do.

By Tuesday morning the excitement in the air had doubled. Art students were let off their usual classes so that they could start on the hall early, so when the bell rang we took as much paper, paint, streamers and miscellaneous art materials as we could carry and made our way to the hall. There, we were joined by Drama, Dance and Esme, who immediately took charge. Not surprisingly, all of us who were supposed to be ignorant of the plan were assigned to work well away from the stage, where all the action would be.

As I helped hang streamers and fairy lights on the walls, I kept an eye on Esme and her group. Along with decorating, they also seemed to be arranging and untangling ropes and setting up the pulley system. Needless to say, watching as the evil witch and her minions arranged Quasimodo's impending doom did not put me in the brightest of moods.

All day we worked on the hall. I was surprising how much effort it took to hang up lights and streamers, but it felt good to be doing some physical work instead of sitting in a chair all day.

That afternoon the office got another call from mum, informing me that I would have to wait for dad to pick me up again, and that this would probably be a regular occurrence. Again, the office advised me to wait inside, and again, I secretly determined to rebel.

Come end of school, as I was making my way to the side door, I passed Kaz and Esme, probably having their last deep-and-meaningful before his life was ruined forever. I clenched my teeth and ignored them, hurrying to what would soon become my usual spot.

Half an hour of frustratedly staring at a blank document with music blaring in my ears later, I saw Quasimodo come out and settle into the opposite bench, still ignoring me. And at that moment, I realized I didn't want it to continue like this, ignoring each other because both were to afraid to speak. After tonight his life would become a waking nightmare, and it was likely that we would never speak again except for the necessary exchanges in class. No matter how much I wanted to be his friend, self-preservation always came first. Now was the only time we had.

Making my decision, I collected up my stuff and moved myself to his bench. "I'm sorry," I blurted before he could say or do anything. He looked at me, a little bit surprised, and I took this as an invitation to continue, taking a deep breath and staring straight ahead.. "I'm not saying that I was wrong or that I'm sorry for saying what I did, but I'm sorry for upsetting you. I didn't mean anything degrading or nothing. It was meant to be just a friendly reminder, but I went too far. I hope you can forgive me."

There was a long silence, but when I finally looked at him, he was nodding. "Of course I f-forgive you."

"Good. I suppose we can put this behind us and never mention it again?"

"Yes."

"Good," I said again, now at a loss for words. We both looked away, still a little uneasy around each other, and I studied my blank screen for a while before bringing up my music folder. "Wanna listen to music again?"

"Yes, I-I'd like that."

"Anything in particular? I know you like Styx but do you have any other preferences?"

"Not really." He looked down, embarrassed. "I d-don't know very much music. W-what... what do you have?"

"Oh, ok... let's see." I browsed through folders and squinted at the tracks. "I have a whole folder of Taylor Swift, some One Direction, some Little Mix, some Kelly Clarkson, um... Owl City, Ed Sheeran, some YouTube stars that should be famous but aren't... I don't think any of this is 'guy stuff'." I turned the screen towards him. "I don't know if you've be interested in anything you see there, but take a look anyway."

I watch as he scanned the lists, none of the names sparking any recognition. He shook his head. "You like Taylor Swift a lot, so maybe..."

"You want to listen to her?" I nodded and handed him an earphone. "Ok." Bringing up the folder, I pressed play, and Kaz's musical education started.

* * *

Later, when my laptop ran out of charge and we were forced to actually talk to each other, Kaz asked me about my favorite song.

"Oh, that's a hard one. Probably... I think I'd have to say Everything Has Changed."

"Why?"

I smiled, shaking my head. "All of her songs are so relatable, and almost all of them seem to be taken from my diary sometimes. But even thought I haven't yet had a situation like that in Everything Has Changed, it's pretty much my favourite song at the moment- mostly because Ed Sheeran's in it too..."

He mulled on this. "How... how do the songs apply to your life?"

"Oh dear..." I bit my lip. "That would require a bit of background. Are you sure you're up for a sob story?"

He nodded.

"Ok, well... most of the relatable ones now are break-up songs, but 'You Belong With Me' was the first. When I was 14, I had this huge crush on Phoebus James. I adored him, and it just felt like that song had been written for me. Then at the end of last year we went out, and it lasted two months before he broke my heart. It was so sudden, I wasn't expecting anything like that. I thought we could last at least until the end of the year. We had fun, and I thought he was happy!" I fought down the memories that were rising up, knowing that if I gave in to them, I'd probably start crying. "So anyway, after that, break-up songs were my thing, and I think the best one is 'Cold As You', cuz he was cold. Damn cold. We used to play basketball on this little court with his friends, and it was like a place that was just for us. When I tried to go back, I took a friend with me cuz I didn't know how I'd be received, and he... he_ flirted_ with her, right in front of me. I couldn't believe it. Here we were, he had just broken up with me through my friends, not even face-to-face, and now he was flirting with my best friend who was right next to me. Who _does_ that? So yeah, I'd say I'd never felt anything as cold as him. There are others, but those two stick out for me."

By this time I was almost talking to myself, but I was jolted out of my depressing memories by Kaz, who hesitantly touched my arm. "I'm sorry," he said softly, looking at me properly for once.

I smiled a pained smile, blinking away my tears before they could fall. "It's fine. It's completely alright. That was nearly 9 months ago, I've gotten over it."

Kaz shook his head, and I knew that the only person I was fooling was myself. "Really?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I waved him away, sniffing. "Don't worry about it."

"Ok." He turned away.

"But thanks for caring." I traced patterns in my laptop lid, a little embarrassed for having burdened him with my pathetic-ness. "That's sweet of you, Kaz."

"You... You're welcome."

We sat in silence for a while, until a car pulled up and I jumped up, stuffing my laptop in my bag and heading for the fence. "See-ya."

"Bye."

I stopped and turned around. "Oh, by the way, good luck with your date tonight." What possessed me to say it I had no idea- maybe a chance of another warning?

"Oh... thanks."

I pursed my lips, wanting to try again, but then I shook my head and climbed the fence, racing to the car and dumping my stuff inside. Looking back, I sighed.

"You're going to need it," I said softly.

But he never heard it, and I doubt it would've done much good if he had. I waved forlornly and got in the car, and settled down for the ride home.

* * *

**_Short one for now, cuz i want to keep the next one by itself. Next chapter is the Costume Ball, and things happen..._**


	7. Hey Quasimodo

**_Here we go, ppl- The moment you've all been waiting for. It's been slow going until now, but after this hopefully it will get a lot more interesting. Here we have the Halloween Dance/Feast of Fools, where Mich watches Quasi get thoroughly humiliated in a video. I wanted her to be there at the dance and try to save him, but I figured this was more lifelike, since Mich isn't allowed to go anyway._**

**_Enough boringness, on with the story!_**

* * *

I stared forlornly at a rip in my black pants, shivering on the floor in front of my bedside table in nothing but my underwear and school shirt. It was Wednesday morning, and I had woken up at 7:30 and started at the ceiling till 8, not feeling up to school that day. In my mind I was wondering why I had the vague feeling that today was special in some way, like there was something I was supposed to do and I had forgotten. Now, as I wished for the thousandth time that I had the legs for skinny jeans and wondered if I could pull of the ripped pants look, I sighed and finished getting dressed, deciding not to care one way or the other.

Somewhere in the house, the phone rang, and one of the girls ran to answer it. A moment later, there was a yell.

"Mich, phone for you! It's Em!"

I pushed myself off the ground with a groan and trudged out to the dining room, dragging my feet. I took the phone offered and slouched against the table. "Yeah?"

"Mich?" Em asked.

"No, ya mum."

"Haha, you're hilarious. Listen, if you're still interested in the situation with that guy, go check your emails. I sent you the link to the video."

"What video?"

"Last night's video."

"Wha-?"

I heard her sigh noisily. "Halloween Dance prank, remember? Jeez, you're slow this morning."

"Oh my god." I slammed down the phone and raced into the study, where my laptop had been charging overnight. Opening the lid, I pressed the power button and tapped my feet impatiently as it booted up and redirected to the homepage. A few moments later I was typing in my Webmail password and scanning my list of emails for the one Em had sent. I found it and clicked the link, and a YouTube video appeared.

PARK RIDGE HIGH SCHOOL HALLOWEEN DANCE 2013- BEST PRANK EVER!

So read the title, and I paused it, nervously waiting for it load. As the little grey bar began to fill up, my fingers hovered over the mousepad. I wanted to see this, I needed to, but at the same time I didn't. _Damn, this is not going to be pretty..._

But my dilemma was solved by curiosity. Biting my lip, I braced myself and clicked play.

* * *

For a moment, the screen was black, faint strains of music and the sounds of people talking the only indications that the video was playing. Then the camera moved up and the profile of a girl filled the screen. She was scantily clad in a shiny gold corset, which managed to push her already-perfect boobs even higher and make her already-tiny waist even smaller, and a skirt that consisted of long strips of gauzy fabric draped in such a way as to show off every part of her legs when she moved. Her long curly hair fanned over her shoulders and her beautiful face wore an ecstatic expression.

"Hey guys!" she cried, waving both hands excitedly and tottering a little, while the person filming laughed.

"How much have you had?"

"Shut up and film." She winked at the camera. "So, welcome to the 7th Halloween Dance prank! As ya'll know we do this thing every year where we prank someone at the dance for everyone's entertainment. Well, forget all previous occasions cuz tonight is gonna be the biggest and best! We picked someone extra special to be our prank victim, and after months of planning and organizing, the night is set. So sit tight and stay close, cuz tonight is going to be epic!"

The scene cut to the hall, full of people dancing and laughing and yelling. Ahead, Esme stalked through the crowd, swinging her hips and jangling her gold jewellery, and jumped up on the stage with a microphone. "Hey, everyone, are ya'll having a good time?"

A universal roar of acknowledgement went up.

"What was that? I could quite hear that."

Another, louder, roar.

She leaned forward with a hand behind her ear. "Sorry, still didn't get it. How about a 'hell yeah'?"

"Hell yeah!" was immediately taken up.

"Huh?"

"HELL YEAH!" The sound was so loud that it turned everything to static for a moment.

Satisfied, Esme put her hand on her hip and stared into the camera, putting on what she probably thought was a sexy pout. "Well, it's about to get even better." A cheer went up and she smirked. "Ok, ok, settle down, they'll be time for that later, I promise. Now..." She paused as someone walked up to the stage and whispered something in her ear, and even from the distance the glint in her eye was visible. "Very good," she continued, winking at the girl. "Thank you. Alright, so , some of you might've known that there was going to be a contest, but most of you wouldn't have. For the last half-hour, I've had scouts selecting the best costumes, and now that the last entrant has been selected I'd like to ask all those with red ribbons to come up on stage, please."

A murmur started up as those selected made their way onto the stage, some in the crowd complaining about the lack of warning but most speculating excitedly about who they thought would win. After a moment on confusion, the group onstage organized themselves into a straight line. Such an assortment of costume would only be found in a cosplay shop- animals, superheros, movie characters and other crazy cosplays line the stage, some store-bought, others DIY. The was even a typical sheet-ghost. But the strangest thing of all was the ugly boy at the end of the line without a costume. He stood there in his ordinary shirt and trousers, fingering his red ribbon and and looking nervous, not understanding what he was up there for but happy to play along.

As the murmuring dulled to a whisper and the group onstage stood at attention, Esme was joined by a boy holding a cardboard crown.

"Ok, everyone up? Good. So, my cousin Clopin and I will be the judges of the competition, and we're going to need a minute or so of quiet while we decide."

The crowd watched silently as the pair of them walked the length of the stage and back, examining every contestant intently. Then, slowly, they started eliminating. Esme walked up to the ghost and tapped his (or her) shoulder whispering a few words in their ear, and the contestant nodded and made their way offstage. Then Clopin did the same with Superman. The same for a cat, a bunny, Indiana Jones, Pikachu, until finally they were left with just one. The crowd started murmuring again as they realized what was going on.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Esme cried as Clopin and dragged the winner to the center of the stage and held the crown above his head, "I give you the winner of the 2013 Halloween Dance Costume Contest, Quasimodo Frollo!"

The sound turned to static again as everyone cheered and clapped, and Esme watched smugly for a moment before raising her hands. "Alright people, quiet down." Turning to Quasimodo, who was fingering the crown with a look of pleasant surprise, she smiled and held out the mic. "Congratulations, Quasimodo. I'm so happy for you! I'm sure it took a long time to pull off the look, but it sure paid off! I'm sure you won't mind me asking, is that a mask or prosthetic makeup?"

A titter went around the audience, and the boy's expression changed from surprised to upset and confused, staring at her.

"I just love the detail that went into all of this!" continued the irrepressible Esme as muffled laughter began to echo around the hall. "Tell me, where can I get a costume like that?"

There was silence from Quasimodo as he struggled to understand what was happening, and Esme straightened up, unable to contain her smirk. "While he ponders his answer, some friends and I have taken the liberty of preparing some entertainment in honour of our winner. Please welcome to the stage the students from Drama and Dance!"

There was a smattering of applause as the buy was suddenly surrounded by a large group, who organized themselves around him, incidentally blocking any route of escape. Esme passed around microphones to about half of them and took her place in the middle, next to Quasimodo, then nodded to the DJ at the back. A fanfare of music began to play, and the group began to bop in time before the boys with microphones started to sing.

"Hey Quasimodo  
You sure look awful  
We've never seen you this close  
You're always hiding  
from everybody  
Half gargoyle, and half Park Ridge High ghost..."

At that, the girls broke in.

"Hey Quasimodo  
I wonder did you know  
When you walk down the hallway  
We hide our eyes now  
And keep our distance  
For fear that you'll come eat us alive!  
Who are you...?"

They held the last note together, and Quasimodo, after staring around in horror, tore off his crown and attempted to leave, only to have those at the exots push him back. He continued trying to leave, checking every exit and being repelled each time, as the song continued.

"Hey Quasimodo  
Who did your hairdo?"

One of the girls tweaked a lock of hair as he went past, then pulled her hand back as if it had been burned, a look of fear on her face.

"Is that a permanent wave?  
It's mighty girlie  
When it's that curly  
But we hear that red's all the rave..."

As he tried to push past, he was cornered by two boys and a girl, who got right down to his level for the next bit of the song.

"Hey Quasimodo  
Who picked your wardrobe?  
Your clothing fits you so well!" They laughed, and on of the boys slapped his back and sang right in his ear.

"It looks much bolder,  
With one padded shoulder!  
Feel confident that no one can tell...  
Who are you...?"  
As the last note soared again, Quasimodo was pushed back into the middle of the stage, and most of the group began to dance, only 4- 3 boys and Esme- of them standing with mics and surrounding the poor boy.

"Do you think he understands the mockery and ridicule?" asked Clopin.

"And better yet I wonder if we're safe if he should start to drool!" continued another boy.

"And can so large a cranium contain a tiny brainium, that's weak..."

"Well the story they tell," continued Esme as the music softened, getting right next to him with her beautiful voice, "is he's deaf to our yells, but still has the power to speak..."

"And think?" asked Clopin with a grin.

"And stink!"

The music continued, and the others joined the group in dancing around him, bopping and weaving and smiling, as Quasimodo desperately tried once again to escape. But the moving bodies and loud music confused him, and time and time again he let himself be pushed back. Giving up, he stood still and stared at the ground, and as the others prepared for more singing, two girls cornered him and leaned on his shoulders at either side, smiling at the audience, who by now were jumping around and cheering. Esme took her place at the front of everyone and raised the microphone, her voice dominating everyone else's.

"Hey Quasimodo  
Where are your parents?  
I've heard they looked suspiciously alike!" This last bit was whisper-sung to the audience, a shocked look on her face, earning more cheers and whistles. Quasimodo looked up and glared at her, his expression unusually angry as the song went on.

"Is that the reason, that makes you perfect,  
for this, playing the part over us all...  
Of king of fools!"

As the note was held for longer than usual, everyone moved back to the edges of the stage, leaving Quasimodo in the middle by himself. Esme grabbed a rope and raised the mic for the last bit, her triumph evident.

"King... of... Fools!"

At the last word, Esme pulled the rope, and before the ecstatic view of the hyped-up audience, a stream of green slime rained down from the ceiling directly onto Quasimodo. As the last note faded out, there was a shocked silence from everyone in the hall... and then such a clamoring, clapping, cheering, wall of noise rang out as the audience went crazy that the static on the video made it hard to make any of it out. The barricade of people on the stage bowed and finally parted, and the forlorn, crooked, slime-covered figure onstage stood there for a moment, rooted to the spot, before snapping out of his shock and running off the stage and out of the hall, leaving a trail of jeering, laughing people in his wake.

The video cut to outside again, shaking and wobbling as the person holding the camera ran after the fleeing figure. They ran through the carpark and onto the street, the camera-man shouting incoherent jeers at Quasimodo and laughing madly, and stood there filming until the humiliated boy was out of sight.

Another scene- this one back inside, where Esme and Phoebus were crooning a love song. Then the video became multiple clips of bad footage, showing dancing, drinking, kissing, and finally the performers stumbling out to their cars, drunk and hyper, laughing and yelling about what a great night it was. And then it ended.

* * *

I sat at my computer, staring shocked at the screen, unable to comprehend what I had just seen. Of all her pranks, this had to be the worst. I couldn't believe how far she had come, and how far she was happy to go, just to provide some entertainment! But I had hated her before, and the feelings I had for her now were nothing new. Stronger was the compassion I had for poor Quasimodo, although in all fairness he had refused to listen to my warnings. This was party his own damn fault. But I couldn't feel like that for long. I was overwhelmed by anger and horror and pity and the desire to make things right, smooth things over. But it wasn't possible. For now that Kaz would no longer have Esme's protection, hell was about to be unleashed on his head. Things would never be the same. His whole life would become worse than it ever was before, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

Especially me.

* * *

**_There you go. It's happened. All hell is to break loose. What did you think?_**

**_'Hey Quasimodo' is an actual song by Dennis Deyoung, but there's no video for it, and you can only find lyrics online. I have the album it was on, so I have the song. (haha suckers- JK :))_**

**_Please review and tell me what you think._**


	8. Just Be

**_Another sort-of filler. _**

**_The girls get into a bit of a fight in this chapter, and Mich gets angry at Frollo._**

**_Read on :)_**

* * *

Did you make your bed?  
Did you lose your head?  
Are you still awake  
From the things you said

You close your eyes  
But the sleep won't come  
`Cause you can't escape  
What's said and done

Did you draw the line  
In the sand again  
Did you make a stand  
Out on a limb

Don't be so hard on yourself  
'Cause you can't change the world  
You can't change the world alone  
Just be

'Just Be'- Styx.

* * *

Walking in the school gates that morning, I was greeted by the sight of my three unusually sober-faced friends standing there waiting for me. I nodded to them and headed into the grounds, hearing them follow me quietly. Out of the corner of my eye I could see them exchanging glances, as if they wanted to say something but were afraid of what my reaction would be. But I decided to ignore it, and we walking silently up the path together.

I didn't blame them for being weary of me. I was sure I looked like a thundercloud- if not my sour expression, then my clenched fists definitely gave away that I was not happy. At all. Plus they had more than likely all seen the video, and they knew what my reaction would've been and how angry I could get about things. So they had every reason to be cautious.

As the winter breeze stirred the leaves on the path and lifted my hair, I wrapped my arms around myself and looked around, noticing as we entered the main building that all the other students there stood in groups of two or three, staring at phones and iPods. Tinny music blared out of one as we passed it, and I immediately recognized it as that hateful song that I had heard earlier that morning. Almost everyone who was watching the video was discreetly bopping up and down or giggling madly, and I was tempted to snatch the devices out of their hands and throw them on the roof or something, but instead I stared resolutely at the ground and kept walking, clenching my teeth.

"So," Em started quietly as we approached her locker, carefully dialing her combination and not looking at me, "I suppose you went and watched the video, then?"

I looked at her as if to say 'Duh!'.

"It's had a few hundred thousand views already, you know, and almost as many likes." She shook her head, dumping her books in the locker. "This thing has gone viral."

"Poor guy," said Bex, sounding surprisingly sympathetic. "Picking on someone for their looks is one thing, but what Esme did was really mean."

_Really mean. Huh. That, and a whole lot more words I'm not allowed to say._ I pursed my lips, suddenly feeling the need to blame someone, and turned to Em. "You should've done something."

"Me? What could I do?"

"Maybe tried to speak up, stop what was going to happen?" I was careful lower my voice so as not to attract attention, but the intensity of my whisper belied my frustration. And, to Em, was pretty much as good as yelling. "You were right there, you knew what she was planning and you knew how I feel about it! Why didn't you do something?"

She looked at me as if I had suddenly grown an extra head. "What, like run up on stage and get slimed with him in the process?" She held up a hand, counting off with her fingers. "Ok, first of all, I didn't know exactly what she was going to do, and secondly, everything happened too fast for me to do anything. And thirdly, I prefer to keep my reputation intact and under Esme's radar, thank you very much."

"Do you realize how freaking selfish you sound?" I was beginning to get worked up, but I didn't bother trying to calm down. It was too late for that now. "All you care about is staying invisible and ignoring the bad stuff around you- never mind that Kaz was going to be publicly humiliated and then bullied for the rest of his life, as long as you've got your precious little reputation, everything's fine and dandy!"

"Michigan!" Dez reproached sternly but quietly, frowning at me. "That's enough!"

But the damage was done. I had meant everything I said, and Em knew it, too. She slammed her locker shut and took a step towards me, crossing her arms and glaring at me. "Well, I'm sorry if I don't live up to all your grand expectations and inspirational standards, Mich, but some of us would like to get through high school without our lives being made a living hell. If you're so obsessed with helping that boy and you knew what was going to happen, why didn't you do something last night?"

"Because I couldn't go to the dance, stupid, otherwise I would've."

Em rolled her eyes, her tone sarcastic. "Yeah, right. I bet if push came to shove you'd just stand there in the crowd looking like a fish, too afraid to put your words into action, because that's the way you are."

My eyes widened in outrage, then narrowed at her, giving her a penetrating evil eye. "Maybe I want to change that. Maybe I'm over being a selfish prig and want to help people instead."

Em set her mouth in a firm line, eyes glinting. "Fine. But don't expect me to follow in your almighty footsteps."

"Believe me, I don't anymore."

"Good."

"Good," I said back, staring her down until she finally took a step back and looked away.

"Come on, guys," she said coolly, hoisting her bag on her shoulder and turning away. "Let's get to classes before the bell rings."

And without waiting to see if they were following, she headed down the hallway. After a moment of hesitation, the others followed her, leaving me shocked and shaken, feeling empty. I had never fought with any of my friends before, and I found I had no idea what to do now. What happened next? Was I still part of the group? Should I go and apologise? After all, I had accused her of being a selfish prig... not a crime punishable by death, since we often exchanged playful insults. But I hadn't been joking this time. I had insulted my friend for real, and it seemed the right thing to do to go and make up...

NO. I squared my shoulders and forced myself to start walking, ignoring those around me who had heard some of the argument and were looking on in interest, wondering if there was going to be a catfight in the works like the bored, stupid high-schoolers they were. Em was always like that, afraid of what others might think and stubborn as hell. I had meant what I said- every word of it. And she had insulted me, too- she had accused me of being a coward, which totally wasn't true... was it?

I shook my head forcefully, my nails biting into my palms as I walked down the hallway. I was shy, not cowardly, and I could prove it if I wanted to. Em was wrong about me, and I didn't need to let it bother me anymore. She would come around soon enough. Meanwhile, I had more important things to worry about- like finding Quasimodo before Esme did...

* * *

As the day progressed it became abundantly clear that Kaz was not at school. Once again, I had to deal with strange feelings of loneliness and disappointment, made all the stronger now that there was no guarantee that I had any friends left. Whether he was sick (from the slime? Maybe he had caught a cold form being out late at night?) or just hiding out of shame, I knew that he couldn't stay away forever.

Surprisingly, Esme was also absent. I found out through the course of the day that she had been suspended- what for, I never completely understood, but it seemed the teachers thought she went too far and this was her punishment. Some punishment suspension was, when all it was was a day off school, but it meant that there was peace in the school for once, instead of perpetual fear.

The next day, though, she was back. When she entered the school that Thursday surrounded by the boys and a few loyal fans, they were greeted with cheers, whistles and applause, and she smugly basked in the approval of the student body. I stood at my locker, watching her go past, fully aware that though they were cheering her on, the majority of the students were tense and expectant. A fearful atmosphere had appeared, and I knew that everyone was waiting for the inevitable torture to begin. But it wouldn't happen yet, for Kaz was still away.

To my relief, my friends were not avoiding me. We met at the gates as usual and walked in together, but the playful banter between us had almost completely ceased, and the friendly atmosphere had turned decidedly frosty. Bex and Dez were quieter than usual, and Em hardly looked at me, let alone spoke. Privately, I was beginning to feel that I should apologise, try to set things straight, but I didn't, hoping it would blow over soon. Besides, she had insulted me too and she had been completely wrong, whereas I knew I was right. Why should I apologise first?

Such reasonings did not make me feel any better about it, but stubbornness was a trait we seemed to share.

When Friday came around and Quasimodo still didn't show, I knew what I would be doing that afternoon. By now, however, it was something to look forward to, since I really wanted to see him and offer some kind of comfort before Esme got her claws into him. The fox had been making the most of her fame, and the prank was the most talked of event since the first one. She was basking in the glory and attention, surrounded by half the school at lunchtimes as she shared her plans for dominance and general enemy making with her 'friends'. I spent half the day in my sanctuary, the art room, but my creativity was all but nonexistent, stifled by my anger at Esme. When it did appear, I made use of it by imagining the most creative ways to kill the evil witch.

At the end of the day I was approached by a teacher with a familiar pile of papers in her arms. I took the from her without needing any explanations and told her they would be delivered, and got out of there quickly. Mum was all too happy to oblige, and soon we were heading into Boronia, looking for a street that would quickly become very familiar to me.

* * *

Mum drove us into Notre-Dame Ct and parked a little further away, under a tree, and I made my way over to the little, almost abandoned-looking house. The police car was there, and the yard was still overgrown, but as I climbed the fence I saw that the pile of bottles was gone and some of the rusty junk had disappear, although whether it had been kicked under the grass or completely removed I couldn't tell, and and frankly didn't want to find out. Although I was quaking inside at the thought of meeting the man I had met before, I held my head high and forced myself to walked confidently up the path towards the door. I was not a coward. I was not going to show my weakness. But all the same I really hoped that Kaz would answer the door instead of the scary-looking policeman.

Ha. When had luck ever gone my way?

The door opened on my third round of knocking, and there stood the policeman, uniform and all, even the badge. 'Officer Frollo', it read; faded and chipped, pinned onto a faded uniform, worn by a tired, faded man. Or that's what it looked like to me, anyway.

In the second or two before I spoke, I tried to size him up and found the results a little confusing. He didn't look drunk, exactly, but he had the air of a drinker (or maybe the smell, i couldn't really tell) and there was a glass in his hand instead of a bottle. I knew he was rude from the last time we met, but there was also something dangerous about him that made me feel like shrinking into the ground, tucking myself into a ball and crawling away to hide. Most policemen were authoritative, maybe stern and rigid, but nothing like this. I could imagine this Frollo person striking fear into any heart he encountered, even hardened criminals. That's what he was doing to me, anyway.

"Yes?" he grunted, staring down at me.

I gulped, trying to find my voice. What was that I had thought earlier, about not being weak or cowardly? "I've, ah, brought Quasimodo's homework again. It's been a little while and he's missed quite a bit of work, so..."

Frollo took the papers from me without a word and went to shut the door, but I wasn't finished yet. No matter how scary this man was, I need to know about Kaz.

"Wait, please..." I held up a hand, catching his attention. "I just have to know: how is he?"

"What?" He squinted at me as if it was weird for me to be asking about his son. And for some reason, that kinda bothered me.

I shrugged it off and elaborated. "Well, it's just that I saw what happened on Tuesday night and I wanted to know if he's ok. It was horrible, what they did, and I wanted to-"

"He got what he deserved."

I stared at him, shocked. "What?"

"It was his own fault, what happened." The man glared at me as if I was the one to blame. "I forbade him from going. I told him what would happen, how he would be treated, and I expressly told him he couldn't go. But the stupid boy disobeyed me. I have no sympathy for him. He got what he deserved."

Although I privately thought that there was a little truth in what he said, I wasn't about to let it go. "You _knew_ this would happen?"

Frollo laughed, a harsh, croaky sound followed by a cough. "Of course I did. He is ugly, deformed- the perfect target for bullies. How could it not happen? I knew that he would be treated like something less than human, like a monster. People like him do not have friends, only enemies."

"That's not completely true- I'm his friend."

"Oh, a do-gooder." Frollo laughed again. "Quasimodo does not need your pity, silly girl. He needs to learn to stand on his own two feet and see the world for what it really is. So stop pretending and go home."

The door began to close again, and I tried to stop it. "But if I could just see him-"

He looked at me coldly. "He is being punished for his disobedience and can see no-one. Goodbye."

And despite my best efforts, the door closed. I glared at the wood and mottled glass as if it was at fault, my hands clenched at my sides, before turning around and stalking back to the car, fuming.

* * *

**_Not much to say about this. Leave a review? Cuz i kind of need them at the moment._**


	9. A Place in this World

**_Chapter 9, yay :) _**

**_Here, Esme gets her first post-dance jabs at Quasi and Mich gets upset. _**

**_In other news, my mum has only just told me that no-one names their girl 'Esme' anymore and it's actually an old lady name. Well she could of told me that before :(_**

**_But I think it's a pretty name, so whatever._**

* * *

I don't know what I want, so don't ask me  
Cause I'm still trying to figure it out  
Don't know what's down this road, I'm just walking  
Trying to see through the rain coming down  
Even though I'm not the only one  
Who feels the way I do

I'm alone, on my own, and that's all I know  
I'll be strong, I'll be wrong, oh but life goes on  
Oh, I'm just a girl, trying to find a place in this world.

'A Place in this World'- Taylor Swift

* * *

The atmosphere was tense, electric, almost like the air of calm before the storm, and the crowd of students in the hallway had slowed. They clustered against the walls, forgetting what they were supposed to be doing and instead staring at one end of the hallway and muttering among themselves.

It was Monday, lunchtime, and I had just put my stuff away and was heading out with Dez when all activity stopped, and we stopped too, wondering what was going on. My heart sank as I glanced behind me at the object of everyone's attention and realized the inevitable was about to happen.

Quasimodo limped down the corridor, eyes on the ground, very aware that everyone else's were on him. No, not everyone's... a whisper went around as someone appeared at the other end of the hallway. A someone whose eyes glinted when she saw the pathetic figure shuffling to his locker among the stares of his peers. A someone who fluffed up her hair and stalked through the students gathered, an evil smirk on her face as her entourage followed closely behind, stopping a few meters from the misshapen boy who was trying to ignore her.

This someone, of course, was Esme.

The entire crowd of students gathered- which was growing by the minute- seemed to hold it's breath as she crossed her arms and shook her head at him.

"Quasimodo."

She said it slowly, tasting it, the word both smooth and sharp on her tongue, like a blade. In fact that was a perfect comparison- Esme's tongue could be likened to a dagger, using words to wound and maim as effectively as any blade. I had personally experienced this in times past and knew what it was like to have her attention. But Quasimodo walked up and opened his locker, arranging his stuff as if nothing was the matter, like he wasn't the object of attention of the scariest person in the school. But I knew this was just a pretense.

And so did Esme. She examined her nails and continued airily, her expression belying the sharpness of her words. "You know, I'm surprised you dared to show your ugly face again after what happened at the dance. I would've thought you'd get the hint that we don't want you around here and stay away."

To anyone else, it would've seemed like this jab got no reaction whatsoever from Kaz, but I saw the way his shoulders tensed up and knew it had found a mark. He may have known he was ugly, but everything is always different when someone else says it. A small part of my mind wondered when and why I had allowed myself to study him so closely that I could recognize his reactions, but it was buried in my preoccupation in the current situation and my anger at Esme. As it was, Dez was constantly trying to catch my eye to remind me to stay calm. I knew that she was concerned that I would do something rash, but I doubted she could hold me back if I decided to stop what was happening.

"Are you amazingly brave or just incredibly stupid?" Esme continued, taking a few lazy steps forward. "Do we have to spell it out to you? Personally I though we did that pretty well on Tuesday night, but I suppose someone with a face like that can't be expected to have a very big brain."

There was an appreciative titter from the crowd, and I couldn't stop myself from clenching my teeth and balling my hands into fist, desperately wanting to stop this abuse before it got too far. But I was too late for that. And what I do, anyway, alone in a crowd of many? I would only be laughed at and scorned. At best I would transfer her attention from him to me, and only temporarily. So I kept my silence, feeling Dez's warning touch on my hand and hearing her sensible voice in my head, telling me not to get involved.

Finally deciding he could no longer pretend to be busy in his locker, Quasimodo shut the door and started walking away, clutching his books to his chest tightly, as if they had the power to save him. Esme followed him slowly, the crowd parting for both of them.

"Quasimodo." She said it again, rolling the word around in her mouth. "You know what it means, don't you?"

I did. I winced, my heart going out to Kaz, as I was sure he wanted the floor to swallow him up.

She looked around at everyone. "Do you all want to know?"

"Yes!" cried the crowd.

_Oh damn_, I thought.

"Half. Formed."

_Ohhhh damn._

Kaz stopped in his tracks, whether out of shock or annoyance I couldn't tell. Personally I would've kept walking as fast as I could to get out of there, but he just stood there, letting everyone talk and laugh about the shameful meaning of his name and make fun of him all around him.

Esme leaned forward, making sure everyone could hear. "Unfinished. The Almost-Person. Extremely accurate, isn't it? I wonder who it was that named you so well?"

Kaz seemed rooted to the spot with shame. Although he was turned away from me, I could clearly see that his ears were red with embarrassment and his shoulders were tensed up completely, as if expecting a blow. I was almost shaking with angers, but I could only watch as she approached him and took note of his cowering stance. This was what she lived for- to belittle and intimidate people, to make them feel useless and hated. Unknowingly, he was giving her exactly what she wanted.

"Do you know," she addressed the crowd over his head, "I had to pretend to like him all this time? Ugh!" She rolled her eyes and pulled a face. "Helping him, spending time with him, having to smile at that godawful face everyday. But oh, when I asked him to the dance!" She began to laugh, a loud, obnoxious sound without any mirth. "You should've seen his face! He actually thought I was asking for a date! Can you imagine?"

The students around me began to laugh with her, and she stared down at him, shaking her head. "Did you honestly believe that I was going to date you? That I could possibly fall in love with someone with a face like yours? A face and a body that only a mother could love, if that. And we have to look at you every day!" She looked around with an expression of horror. "How are we going to survive the next year-and-a-half?"

Everyone continued to laugh and jeer, and Esme stood looking at the cowering Quasimodo, a satisfied smile stretching across her face. I was boiling, almost ready to go up there and slap her and defend him, but Dez's hand was on my arm, gently retraining me, reminding me of what would happen if I did anything. As I watched, Quasimodo lifted his eyes from the floor and accidentally caught mine. His expression was pleading, mortified. That was all I needed. I opened my mouth to speak up, tell them all to shut up and leave him alone, yell at them about compassion and humanity and bullying and 'he can't help it'. But as I held his hypnotizing gaze and listened to the laughter and ridicule around me, the words dried up. It was like my tongue suddenly shriveled up in my mouth. I was mute, speechless.

And then I saw Em, in the crowd behind him, staring straight at me. And all of a sudden I realized she was right. I was afraid. I stood there, eyes wide and mouth gaping exactly like a fish, and I knew that she had been right the whole time. I couldn't speak up, I couldn't do anything, because I was too afraid. Her words echoed in my mind: _That's the way you are._

_That's the way I am. A liar. A hypocrite. _

_A coward._

Time slowed down as both of them stared at me, Kaz silently asking for help and Em gazing triumphantly at my stricken face. And I couldn't take it anymore. I shook my head in a fearful apology and backed away, tears of shame clouding my vision. Just before I turned away I saw Kaz's face fall as he realised I wasn't going to help him.

And then, I ran.

* * *

Let me just say now, I had never cried at school. Not when I was 8 and skinned both knees badly enough to leave scars, not when I was 10 and forgot my lunch and had to starve all day, not when I got sick, not when I was bullied for most of first and second grade. I had always been a tough kid. But that chain was broken that day as I sat in the bathroom stall, curled into a ball on the toilet seat, sobbing my heart out.

Part of me was berating myself being the one crying about this- I wasn't under fire, it had nothing to do with me. If anything Kaz should be the one crying. Oh damn... A picture rose in my head of him in the same position as me in the boys bathroom, tears streaming down his face. That was enough to set me off again.

It wasn't just the pain of seeing someone I'd grown attached to being treated like crap- though that was part of it. I was disgusted with myself for not doing anything about it. After all I had said to my friends, I had been too cowardly to back it up. What kind of pathetic excuse for a human being was I if I couldn't stand up for my friends?

I thought back to the scene. Quasimodo had looked at me like I was some kind of savior. He knew that I was going to do something. And then I dashed his hope to pieces. I was no friend. He probably saw me like I was no better than anyone else, and there was no way I could change his opinion of me now.

And Em... the look she had given me. I knew that if we ever spoke again, she wouldn't tell me I told you so or anything like that, but that look... it was just as bad. I would remember it, and she knew it. She wouldn't bring it up, but I would always think about it.

I sighed shakily and wiped my eyes, trying to get a hold of myself, and lowered my feet to the floor, about to stand up. But the sound of footsteps approaching made me freeze, and I quickly lifted them up again, not wanting to go out be caught with the tell-tale signs of crying. I listened to tell-tale clack of heeled boots stop in front of a mirror, followed by the slip-slap of sandles and a girly giggle.

"Did you see how fast he ran?" asked one of them, voice full of amusement, prompting a laugh from the other girl that I instantly recognized.

"What about his reaction when I told him what his name means?"

"That was hilarious. Where do you come up with that stuff?"

"I researched it. Good, isn't it?"

I peered through the crack in the door to see Esme staring in the mirror, touching up her mascara, while the other girl- I vaguely recognized her from Drama club- was adjusting her hair. And I sighed with relief that I didn't go out there looking like I did. No doubt they would find something to criticize me about, and I would probably have to tell them what I was crying about, and that would be the start of another year of torment... I frowned. What was I doing, worrying about myself, when someone else was suffering at the hands of this very girl?

"You coming to the thing next Friday? Or do I even have to ask?"

"Oh, that..." For once, Esme actually sounded sheepish. "I was going to, but I'm working that night. I might be able to make it later if I'm lucky, though."

"What do you do that makes you work at night? That's messed up!"

"Oh, just a little job at the PRT, nothing special. Pays well, so it's worth it."

_A little job. LOL. _I had heard rumours about her 'little job' at the Park Ridge Tavern. Nothing truly scandalous, just solo and group entertainment, mostly dancing. Specifically sexy dancing. So yeah, maybe a bit scandalous. That was Esme for you.

"But you'll come?"

"Depends when I finish. I'll try."

"Cool."

They finished primping and left, and I let out a breath and stood up slowly. Making my way out of the stall, I shook my head at myself in the mirror and splashed some water on my face. I looked a mess, but hopefully no-one would notice. As the bell began to ring, I sighed and walked out, ready to go to class.

* * *

The days passed in a blur as I tried to avoid everyone. I spent more time than ever in the art-room, not wanting to witness any more scenes between Esme and Kaz. There was no need, now that I knew I was too afraid to do anything about it. Still, I was still forced to watch the insults and laughter that he was assaulted with between classes.

We didn't speak, Kaz and I, unless absolutely necessary. We worked together on our projects and greeted each other at the lockers, but I made sure never to walk too close to him or look at him for too long. He probably hated me anyway, and I just couldn't handle the guilt that would come from staring at all the hurt in those beautiful eyes. Tuesday afternoon, I left him on his bench and didn't try to be friendly. I was too ashamed for that.

We were no longer going to be friends, I could feel it. What I couldn't feel was ok about it.

And neither could I forsee the changes that would come soon, sooner that I would've thought and more surprising than I could've imagined. It happened on Friday night, the night that Esme went to work at the Park Ridge Tavern...

* * *

**_So the next chapter will be based off the book instead of the movie and will be told from someone else's POV. Till then, mind reviewing?_**


	10. Friday Night

**_Basically, this is the chapter 'The Dangers of Following a Pretty Woman in the Street at Night', if anyone's read the book. I rather like how this turned out. Thanks to my reviewers for their support and comments :)_**

* * *

It was about 6 o'clock at night, already dark, and the carpark of the Park Ridge Tavern was relatively full. Inside the tavern, people talked and ate and drank, watching the screens mounted on the walls that showed lucky numbers, the news or music videos. Some hung by the bar, others tiptoed into the function room to catch a glance of the special performance. In the kitchen, waiters and cooks in plain black shirts and white aprons ran around, taking orders, picking up plates and cooking meals. Except for one. In a corner of the kitchen leaning on a disused bench was a tall, lanky, blond boy, mid-teens, wearing the uniform but not doing any work. Instead, he was writing furtively in a notebook, muttering to himself as he did.

_"Death is the cook of Nature; and we find _  
_Meat dressèd several ways to please her mind. _  
_Some meats she roasts with fevers, burning hot, _  
_And some she boils with... with... dropsies... is that a word? ok, dropsies in a pot. _  
_Some for jelly consuming by degrees, _  
_And some with ulcers, gravy out to squeeze. _  
_Some flesh as sage she stuffs with... with... with... ah! gouts, and pains, _  
_Others for tender meat hangs up in chains-"_

"Oi, kid!"

Pierre gasped and jumped to attention, his book falling out of his hands onto the floor. He winced as it hit the ground and quickly stooped to pick it up, bashing his head on the counter on the way up, provoking a yelp of pain. He stood up again, eying the angry-looking man in front of him with apprehension. "Yes sir!"

The man stomped over and snatched the book out of his hand, chucking it at the bin as he shoved him towards the door. "You come here to work, not stand around composing sonnets! Now get out there and serve the customers!"

"Yes sir!" Pierre stumbled past the rushing cooks and waiters and grabbed the tray of pizza, glancing back at the bin where his precious book had been thrown before going out into the dining area.

Pierre Gringoire was 16 but had left school, having more important things to worry about than his education. His only family being a sick mother who couldn't do anything other than sew, he was forced to work to help pay the bills. A dreamer with his head in the clouds, he fancied himself a great poet and philosopher and wrote about serious subjects like religion and nature, passing poetry and essays off to whatever magazine, publisher or agent that would have them. More often than not he was rejected for reasons like 'too boring', 'not understandable' and 'what the hell are these pointless scribbles anyway?'. Nevertheless he persisted in writing, hoping to one day strike out and become a famous author. For now, he was stuck cleaning the floors and waiting tables, but one day, just one day, someone might see his potential...

Pierre blinked and came back down to earth with a bump, looking for the table he was supposed to be serving. Out the front, the door slid open to admit another group of people, all drinking and laughing raucously... except for one. The man had his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he slouched in behind everyone else. As the group examined placards for a table that wasn't reserved, he broke away and skulked into the function room. Pierre followed him with his eyes, squinting a little as he tried to remember where he had seen him before. He was definitely familiar.

Wracking his brain, he found the pizza table and unloaded his burden, then went to serve the group of young people. "Hi guys, you waiting on anything?"

"Nah, we just got here. What's the special tonight?"

"Pizza and beer for $10. You'll have to order it up there."

While they discussed among themselves what they'd get and a few broke away to the counter, Pierre went off to clear a few tables and came back to the kitchen, arms laden with dirty dishes. He was met at the door by a girl, someone who he was friendly with and had saved his butt more than a few times. Her name was strange and foreign, and he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. All he knew now was that she was annoyed and holding his beloved book, a sight that had become familiar in the last few weeks.

"You'll have to be more careful!" she hissed, shoving it in his face. He only just managed to grab it with his teeth before it fell into an almost-empty bowl of soup. "I can't keep saving your precious book from becoming garbage every time you get busted not doing your work. Found it in the bin. _Again_. Just managed to grab it before they took them out."

Pierre dumped the dishes on the bench next to the sink and quickly leafed though the book to make sure it was all there. "Thanks, Li... Lio, isn't it?"

"Liénarde. But yeah, you can call me Lio if you like." Her face softened. "So, what is it with all this poetry stuff anyway? What's so important that you're willing to be on the boss's bad side all the time?"

"I'm a writer, Lio. I can't help it if inspiration strikes at inappropriate times."

"A real, professional writer? Do you get paid? Are you any good?"

Pierre let out a breath, thrilled that someone was finally interested. "I'm not professional yet, but I've submitted to several prominent literary magazines and I hope to hear back from them very soon. I won't get paid for anything until I'm accepted, and yes, I do think I am pretty good, if I do say so myself. I was top of the class in English when I went to school-" A sudden buzzing sound cut through their conversation, and he grabbed his phone from his back pocket. "That must be one of them. 'Scuse me a moment." Lio turned to the book on the counter as Pierre eager answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Good evening, am I speaking to Mr Pierre Gringoire?" The voice was female- tired and wooden, as if she was reading off a script. Pierre closed his eyes and forced himself to breath slowly before answering.

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm Adelaide Brown from Epoch. It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your submission 'The Good Judgment of Madame the Virgin Mary' was rejected for publishing due to it's length and it's inability to engage. However, we thank you for the-"

"Wait, wait, wait." Pierre gripped his phone harder, eyes widening in horror. "I worked hard on that piece. It took me nearly 6 months to perfect. And you're telling me that it's been rejected? Did you even read it?"

"We assure you that your submission was read carefully by our publishers and editors."

"Then why are you rejecting it? It's a brilliant work of poetry!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but it was simply impossible for us to publish your poetry at this time."

"But-"

"Please accept our sincere apologies. Thank you for the opportunity to consider your work and thank you for supporting Epoch Magazine with your reading, writing, and subscribing. Goodnight."

"Wait-!"

The line clicked off, and Pierre let the mobile slip out of his hand and hit the bench with a metallic 'thud', not caring if he broke it. He sighed shakily and let his body slump against the bench, burying his face in his hands while Lio laid a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"Bad news?"

He groaned, rubbing his eyes to prevent any tears from slipping out. "Just the usual." He stood up slowly and looked at her. "I thought I was so close. I worked so hard, made so many drafts, rewrote it again and again to get it just right. I had all my hopes and dreams riding on that piece. And now it's just... gone."

Lio shook her head sympathetically. "Oh, Pierre-"

"Do you know why they rejected it? Do you know what that Adelaide Brown told me?" He pounded the bench, not waiting for a reply. "She said it's too long and boring to be even considered for publication. Too long and boring!"

"Well..." Lio bit her lip and glanced guiltily at his precious book of poetry. "I suppose you could... I don't know... cut it down a little... maybe?"

He stared at her. "You think so too!"

"What?"

"You think it's long and boring and rubbish, too! Go on, admit it!"

"No, Pierre, I didn't say that!"

"But you're thinking it, aren't you?"

"No!"

He gazed into her eyes, intense and angry.

Lio sighed and dropped her gaze to the floor uncomfortably. "Well, yes, maybe. But you're a good writer, Pierre. You just need to try something different."

"Like what?"

"Stuff that people like to read, like Romance and Drama and Action-"

"Romance!" Pierre collapsed on the bench again. "Drama! Action! I hope the time will never come when I'll have to lower myself to such... trivial... trash!"

She bit back a laugh at his dramatics and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "All right, Pierre, whatever you say." She glanced around and caught the eye of one of the cooks, who was giving them a dirty look, and then at the rapid stacking-up plates of food near the door. "I think it's time to get back to work now, don't you? Or do you want your book thrown out for good this time?"

Pierre straightened up and gave a watery smile. "You're right, of course. I've gotta 'soldier on' and 'smile through the hard times' and all that jazz. Don't wanna lose my job, do I?" He cleared his throat and headed for the table orders. "Thanks, Lio."

"Anytime, man. Hey!"

He turned around.

She snatched up his book and chucked it over. "Heads up!"

He caught it neatly and tucked it into his apron pocket, nodded his thanks and got back to work.

* * *

_Some time later..._

Pierre poked his head through the door, momentarily stunned by the noise and dimmed lights, then balanced his trays carefully as he pushed into the room. By rights he shouldn't be here, for it was a special performance and it was over-18s only, but they were short on staff and he was the only one available to serve at that moment. So he stopped for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and then strolled in, trying not to look illegal.

Up the front was a girl, dancing on a stage. There was nothing inherently 'adult' about her, nothing that exactly screamed 'sex', but her skimpy clothes and suggestive dancing made sure every tipsy, leering eye was on her, including Pierre's for a moment. In the crazy, dancing lights and semi-darkness and loud music and sparkles that shone off her gold costume when the lights hit it, she looked like some kind of ethereal being, a dark fairy with golden scales that twisted and spun to the music and cast a spell on every person in the room. And then he shook his head and tore his eyes away and realized that she was just a young girl, a dancer who was probably desperate for money and attention. Heck, she didn't look any older than him- which made what she was doing pretty illegal. But then, he wasn't supposed be there either, so he wasn't going to say anything.

Coming to his senses, he began to serve out the dishes on his tray, all the while casting glances back at the dancer on the stage. So disconnected was he from his surroundings that when the man near him spoke and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"What was that, sir?"

The man said ignored him, and Pierre realized that he hadn't been spoken to- the man was muttering to himself as he stared at the dancer. And then he saw that it was the familiar man he had seen before- the one who he knew but couldn't remember. Sidling closer, he managed to make out the words 'disgusting display' and 'parading around like a harlot' before the stranger took notice of him, suddenly whipping his head around to stare at him. "What?"

Pierre fumbled with his tray and managed to save the drink before it spilled everywhere. "Oh, sorry, your beer, sir."

The man grabbed it and turned back with not an ounce of recognition, and Pierre shrugged and stood back, watching the girl again. She was pretty- extremely pretty- with masses of dark hair piled on top of her head, dark skin and large black eyes that flashed as she glanced around at them. Her eyes caught his for a moment, and he turned away, embarrassed. His tray empty, there was no reason for him to stay, and if he did he would probably get into trouble. So he slowly back out, eyes on the dancer. When he got to the door he looked back at the man, who was gazing at her as intensely as everyone else. But there was one difference- while most of them had drunken grins and leers, he was brooding, almost angry. And for some reason, this troubled the boy.

* * *

_Later still..._

Chucking his apron at the hangers, Pierre picked up his bag and headed out the back door, his shift over. He stopped next to the giant rubbish bins and leaned against one, ignoring the smell, mentally and physically exhausted from the day's work. Looking down at the book in his hand, he scowled, remembering the humiliating phone call from Epoch magazine that still burned in his memory.

"Who am I kidding?" he groaned, holding the book up to the light. It was nearly full, which usually gave him a thrill of pride for what he could do. Now, all his precious poems and snippets of essays suddenly seemed meaningless junk. No-one wanted them. They were useless. And junk deserves to be thrown out.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped back and hurled the book over the side of the bin, turning away quickly and starting to walk away. But each step quickly grew slower as he realized what he had done. He couldn't just throw away all the work he had done that year. And Lio almost believed in him now. She may not have been his biggest fan, but she would be so disappointed to know that he had given up.

_What have I done?_

With a gasp, he turned and ran back, grabbed the top of the bin and heaved himself up. Looking down into the piles of rotting food and garbage, he spotted it lying neatly atop a tower of food scraps and reached for it. And then his foot slipped. With a yelp, he tumbled into the bin.

Muttering curses, he looked down at the mess he had gotten himself in and reached for the edge. With much huffing, puffing and grumbling, he managed to heave himself back up just in time for the kitchen door to open. Not wanting to be caught in such an embarrassing situation, he quietly lowered himself back into the garbage and peered over the side at whoever had come out.

It was the dancing girl. Although she was wearing jeans and a leather jacket and her hair was down, he knew it was her from the smooth way she moved and her large dark eyes. Also, her shiny gold costume was visible underneath the jacket. He watch as she hoisted her bag on her shoulder and headed away from him, around the building towards the carpark. When she was out of sight, he once again climbed to the top of the bin and jumped down, his shoes making dull, wet squelches on the cement. Making a face, he scraped them off as best he could and then cleaned off his book by wiping it on the back of his jeans. Sighing with both the relief that it was safe and that he hadn't been spotted by the girl, he stuffed it in his bag and headed in the same direction the dancer had.

Turning the corner, he stopped and stumbled back into the shadows when he found her leaning against the wall, staring at her phone. He stood there staring at her shamelessly, illogically afraid of her seeing him. He took the time to examine her face by the light of her phone and found that while her features were perfect , she looked nothing like what she had before. On the stage, she looked fearless, sultry, confident. Here, she looked vulnerable, almost afraid. Her beautiful eyes were sad. She looked like she need a friend.

His fear wearing off, he was about to step out in front of her and perhaps introduce himself when she straightened up, tucked her phone in her pocket and headed off again. He moved to follow but a sudden pull at his shoelaces nearly tripped him up, and with a sigh he bent down to tie them again as she disappeared into the carpark.

And then, she screamed.

* * *

In the carpark, almost every spot was taken, and the place was full of shadows. One of the few remaining streetlights that weren't broken shone enough light on the scene to allow Pierre to see the dancing girl struggling in the arms of two men, who were trying to stifle her cries.

Pierre gasped. "Hey, put her down! Security! Help! Help!" he shouted, and ran forward bravely. One of the men turned in his direction; the slanted light revealed a face that was grotesque and terrifying.

Pierre did not take to flight, but neither did he advance another step.

The person came towards him and shoved him away; Pierre fell backwards onto the bitumen and lay there, stunned and winded as he watched him carry the girl towards a car that was bathed in shadows, the other man following with something that gleamed in his hand. Metal handcuffs? The girl continued to struggle and cry out, and Pierre watched helplessly from the ground.

"Stop! Both of you, stop and put her down!" suddenly was called out from the front of the Tavern, and half a dozen guys who had heard Pierre's shout raced out towards the trio, the place's bouncer in the lead.

The would-be kidnappers stopped, surprised, and in a moment of panic dropped the girl and fled for the car. Before anyone could do anything, they had started the engine and raced away.

The rescuers gathered around the frightened girl, who by now was crying and shaking uncontrollably. They helped her up and asked her questions, then made sure she had all her stuff and escorted her into the Tavern. One stopped on his way in and offered a hand to Pierre, who gladly took it and got up, puffing slightly. Dusting himself off, he thanked the man and made to leave, but the bouncer stopped him.

"I'm afraid you can't go just yet, sir. I think the police will want to talk to you."

"Police? But I didn't-" He stopped. "Ohhhh, because I'm a witness. Ok, but they'd better get here soon cuz I have to go home."

He followed them inside, and pulled out his phone to ring his mother. _I might be here for a while..._

* * *

**_What did you think? Drop me a review and tell me whether I should make Pierre a permanent character, and if so, how? I always like hearing people's ideas :)_**


	11. Defying Gravity

**_I had fun writing this. Finally Mich is going to man up a bit and take a stand. Hope you enjoy, cuz I sure did :)_**

* * *

Something has changed within me  
Something is not the same  
I'm through with playing by the rules  
Of someone else's game  
Too late for second-guessing  
Too late to go back to sleep  
It's time to trust my instincts  
Close my eyes and leap!

I'm through accepting limits  
'cause someone says they're so  
Some things I cannot change  
But till I try, I'll never know!  
Too long I've been afraid of  
Losing love I guess I've lost  
Well, if that's love  
It comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy defying gravity  
Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity  
And you can't pull me down.

'Defying Gravity'- Wicked.

* * *

Monday morning, about the middle of August.

Picture, if you will, lunchtime at Park Ridge High. The hallways are empty at first, silent besides the droning of teachers behind closed doors. Then the bell rings- if 'rings' is the proper word. More like blares a loud, insistent beeping through the loudspeakers and into everyone's head, giving them a blaring headache that seems to compete with the bell with it's pounding annoyance. Many constantly wish that the school would upgrade to a proper bell like the school in America or England. Others look forward to the sound simply because it heralds the end to classes and the beginning of a short burst of freedom.

Where was I again? Oh, right- Lunchtime.

The halls are full before the bell stops, a mass of yelling and screaming teenagers jostling for place, trying to get to their locker so that they can grab their food and go. Smaller ones get pushed out of the way by the bigger boys and have to patiently wait for them to leave, not bothering to protest the injustice. They know the drill- and the consequences. So they stand to the side and sigh to themselves, invisible in the crowd.

There are some, of course, who actually like being invisible. It bring with it a kind of freedom that introverts love- if no one can see you, no one notices when you make mistakes or say something stupid. You don't have to make conversation with someone who can't see you (or chooses not to). These invisible people hear things, see things, go places. Or, as in most cases, just sneak around and do what they need to do every day.

But anyway...

In a few minutes, half the chaotic crowd has gone, relocated to the eating areas or the oval, migrated together in the many cliques and clubs and crowds that make up the school. The rest make it to the lockers and get their lunches, then vamoose before anyone catches them, hoping to stay out of sight of the many bullies and mean kids who roam the halls spoiling for a fight. And a fight is one of the few things that can be counted on every day. Someone always manages to be on someone else's bad side.

And today is no exception, as a few people are about to find out.

* * *

As the majority of the crowd began to clear, I stepped out of the classroom and into the fray, weaving between groups catching up on gossip, couples engaging in embarrassing PDA, and other kids just going about their normal, daily routine, heading for the hallway that contained my locker.

Stopping at the corner to let a pack of giggling cheerleaders past (why we had cheerleaders at all I didn't know, since they weren't used for 'cheerleader stuff' and we didn't have any events that needed them anyway), I stooped down to re-tie my shoelaces and slipped off my jacket while I was at it, the midday heats tarting to get to me. Winter here was more of a joke- chilly in the mornings and evenings, but in the middle of the day it could get as hot as summer. _Some winter_, I thought gloomily, straightening up and then jerking back quickly, eyes wide, for now I found myself face-to-face with Quasimodo. He stood there in front of me, looking like he was waiting for something. I quickly stepped back, blinking in surprise at the suddenness of it, and stared at him, my mouth, embarrassingly, still hanging half-open from the gasp I only just managed to suppress. We gazed at each other for a few seconds, me gaping stupidly and him waiting patiently for... what? This was the first time we had made eye contact in about a week or two since Esme's triumph. I had been too ashamed to look at him, and he... well, God only knew what was going through his mind, but he probably hated me, both for being right about her and for not having the guts to stick up for him. We had almost completely ignored each other, even managing to do so in Music when we had to work together on a report. Instead of consulting, planning and writing it together, we had simply worked independently and put our separate pieces together. We had managed very well with no communication of any kind, and now we were facing each other in the hallway, neither of us knowing what the other was going to do. The awkwardness was so palpable I could almost taste it, and it wasn't a pleasant taste either.

After a few moments of this strange, silent staring contest, he glanced away, over at a point somewhere behind me, then looked back at me. He did it again, and I followed his gaze over my shoulder to see... the bubblers.

Oh. Woops.

I had been standing directly in front of the water fountain, and he clearly wanted me to move.

I moved out of the way, feeling like a big idiot, and started walking again, trying not to think about those gorgeous green eyes that I had been trying hard not look at the whole time, for fear that I'd be mesmerized again. I was starting to be a little worried about the amount of influence that boy's eyes had over me. I seemed to lose my ability to think and speak coherently when I was looking at them, and to be honest it was kinda starting to freak me out.

This was pretty much exactly what I was thinking when the jerks showed up.

"Hey, freak!"

I turned, looking for the source of the insult. Quasi had been just about to take a drink, but he stopped too, and I immediately recognized the familiar tensing of the shoulders that happened every time something bad happened. The insult could've been meant for anyone, but it was like, from that one phrase, he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

"Yo, half-formed unfinished freakazoid from planet ugly, we're talking to you!"

Aaaannnd now I did too. I bit my lip and clutched my books tightly to my chest as the three boys came into view. Andrew Hallows was the one who had just thrown that extremely creative insult- he was part of The Gang, a royal sleaze-bag and probably, if rumors were to be believed, Esme's secondary boyfriend. They surrounded Quasi in a loose triangle, blocking any way out, and stood there as they began to draw a crowd. Curious onlookers had heard the insults and were drifting in from lunch to see what was obviously going to be a fight of some kind, and soon a ring of people surrounded the four of them. Now there was definitely no way out.

"So..." drawled one of them, drawing out the word more than was necessary to prolong suspense. With a sinking feeling I realized it was Phoebus. _How far he has fallen from the lovable guy I used to know,_ I mused sadly as I watched the scene with trepidation. Now was usually the time I ran away, ignored what was happening, but this time... no. Not this time. Something was different. I wanted to stay and see what they would do, if only out of curiosity. So I stayed, lost in the crowd that had gathered, all of them excited at the prospect of a fight.

"What do we have here?"

"I-I j-just want to g-get a drink," Quasi stammered, looking at the ground. It was the first time I had heard him speak to anyone besides me, and the sound of his voice, so soft and reticent and fearful, produced a strange reaction in me. All at once, my heart gave a great thump and my throat went dry, though whether this was from fear or something else I couldn't tell. I had an inkling that it might have been 'something else', but I didn't have time to ponder it. I didn't _want_ to ponder it. Still, it kept me stumped until Phoebus spoke again.

"A drink, huh?" He looked around to make sure everyone was watching, a trick he had probably learned from Esme. "Well, I don't think you deserve a drink. Not after what you did to Esme. I think you deserve something different. Something... more filling. Maybe a knuckle sandwich?" He suddenly lunged forward and grabbed the front of Quasi's jacket, pulled him close with a scowl, his fist raised.

"I-I-I d-didn't..." gasped Quasi, dropping his books and raising his hands in a feeble appeal for mercy. "I-I-I-I d-d-d..."

"No, I know you 'd-d-didn't'," mocked Phoebus, getting up close in his face, "Everyone knows you didn't succeed. But you tried, didn't you?" He shoved the other boy back, making him crash into the fountain, and held him there. "What were you thinking, huh? Was it a chance for revenge? Or maybe you thought you'd try something on a girl for once, have little bit of fun? 'Cause of course the only way that could happen is if you kidnapped her. Was that it, then? Got a little lonely, alone in your room with your fantasies, and decided to go nab yourself a poor unsuspecting girl? What kind of sicko are you, huh?"

As he continued shoving Quasi against the bubblers and spitting more hurtful remarks in his face, my eyes widened as I realized what he was talking about. I myself had only just found out about it.

* * *

That morning, the school had been buzzing.

As I walked up the path to the main building, pulling my new black-and-white varsity jacket ($30 from SES) tightly around me and silently contemplating life, the universe and everything, I noticed that there seemed to be an uncommon amount of local newspapers floating around, either held by shocked-looking gossipers or flapping around campus in the breeze. I paid no attention at first, being more occupied with getting out of the cold August air and wondering if I was going to sit with my friends today or wallow in self-pity in the art-room, but by the time I had made it to my locker I couldn't help but notice everyone else's attention directed on the newspaper, which seemed to be the focus of the aforementioned 'buzz'. Having spent the weekend with my family cleaning the house and watching old sci-fi re-runs, I wasn't at all up-to-date with local events.

That's why, when I picked up the 'Jimboomba Times' from in front of my locker and glanced at the first page, I was completely and utterly flabbergasted at what I saw: the words "SCHOOLGIRL ALMOST ABDUCTED" splashed across the headlines, accompanied by a grainy picture of Esme Azarola crying. Scanning the article inside, I learned, to my shock, that Esme had been attacked in the carpark of the Park Ridge Tavern by two men who nearly managed to drag her to their car, but was saved by the quick thinking of a boy who alerted staff and tried, unsuccessfully, to fight the would-be kidnappers off. Later, during questioning, she had accused a fellow student of being one of the attackers, which seemed to be backed up by a witness's rather vague memory of his appearance. But after questioning the accused, who had an alibi supported by a parent who also happened to be a well-known and trusted police officer, the witness retracted his statement and despite Esme's insistence, the charges were dropped. It had all happened quite quickly over the weekend and was now almost old news, and though I sympathized with Esme and wondered about the situation, I hadn't made any connections.

* * *

But now, hearing Phoebus accusing Quasi of the unthinkable, I remembered that Quasi's dad was a police officer and probably the only one to be able to support his alibi, for as far as I could see the boy never went out of the house. But the matter had already been resolved. Did everyone still believe he had done it? Esme evidently did. Or perhaps her wild accusations were just another way to ruin his life. _Quasi may be quiet and secretive and kinda freaky-looking, and she was making his life miserable, but he would never do something like that... would he?_ I shook my head forcefully, angry at myself for even thinking such a thing. _No. Of course not._

Phoebus leaned closer, bending Quasi back against the fountain in a way that looked excruciating with his hunch. "Thought you'd try and hurt my girlfriend, did you? Thought no-one would find out?"

Quasimodo's eyes were bulging out of his head with fear and pain, terror all over his warped features. "N-n-n-no, I-I-I-"

"You can deny it all you want, but we know the truth, don't we? No-one believes your alibi, no-one believes your lies. And now you're going to get what you deserve."

My hands flew to my mouth, my books dropping unheeded to the ground as Phoebus' fist connected with Quasi's stomach and the deformed boy doubled over, gasping and wheezing in pain. The crowd "Ohhh-ed" in excitement and began to cheer, all of them watching with horrible fascination. Everyone loved a good fight.

Everyone accept me.

I stood there, hands clasped to my mouth, tears in my eyes and a churning feeling in my stomach as Phoebus starting beating up my friend. With each punch I flinched, while the crowd laughed and egged him on. Quasi never cried out, and I realized that this had happened before, probably many times before. _So that's what he meant when he said they hurt him. This probably happened at every school he's ever been to._ I felt so powerless, standing there watching him feebly trying to protect himself from the blows. _He could easily defend himself, but he doesn't want to. Why? Why isn't he defending himself_? Andrew and Brett picked him up off the floor and shoved him towards Phoebus, who caught him and shoved him at the lockers. The torture went on, and I through my horror and and tears I felt something growing in me, something reaching up from deep in my heart and filling me up. My lungs constricted and my chest was tight; I felt like I was choking on it. I was angry, really, truly, seriously angry. This was nothing like my irritation at Esme, the world and my sisters, this was pure rage. My hands dropped to the side, fists clenched and shaking, and my tears seemed to dry up in an instant. Every punch, every shove, made it stronger. I was being taken over, and I didn't even care. I think I knew what was going to happen even then. The sight of Quasimodo, lying choking and gasping and bleeding on the floor, cemented it. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was pushing through the crowd and to the front, where Phoebus was standing over Quasi, about to reach down and yank him up for another round. He never got a chance to. I grabbed his shoulder, turned him around and punched him in the face.

He fell.

The crowd quieted down so fast it was like someone had flipped a switch.

I stood above Phoebus, who was clutching his face in pain and staring up at me in shock, and stared down at him, ignoring the pain in my hand. "That's enough," I said quietly, but loud enough so that the entire crowd of people gathered could hear. "That's bloody enough, you hear me?"

He did, but he didn't like it. He glared at me and was about to retort when someone else interrupted our little scene with a phrase that would strike fear into anyone's heart in that situation.

"TEACHERS COMING!"

The crowd erupted in panic and started draining away, crashing into each other in their haste to get away before the teacher caught them. I gave Phoebus one last scathing glare before turning to Quasi, who was curled up in a ball on the floor, and grabbed his arm. "Get up."

He uncurled and stared at me with disbelief, and I shook him impatiently. "Come on, we have to go. Here, I'll help you up."

He took my hand and eased himself up, and I swallowed my horror as I saw the extent of his injuries. His nose was bleeding, and his face was covered in bruises that were already turning purple. From the way he held himself I guessed there were similar bruises up and down his body. I didn't want to hurt him anymore than he was already, but we had to hurry before we were caught. Andrew and Brett were already helping up Phoebus and dusting him off, and he was holding a tissue to his nose to staunch the blood. I felt a brief jolt of fear when I saw what I had done, but that quickly changed to satisfaction, for I had finally done something that I'd wanted to do to him for a long time, and it felt pretty good.

But the teacher was indeed coming. I looked around and spied a side door, and grabbed his hand and ran through it just as the teacher came into view. I could hear her briskly asking Phoebus what had happened, and him giving a lame excuse- "I fell, miss!"- before I pulled Quasi through another door opposite and we found ourselves outside the building. I quickly got my bearings and found a toilet block nearby, and before anyone could see I had shut us both up in one of the unisex staff toilets.

Safe.

I locked the door and let out a shaky breath as the full extent of what had happened and what I had done came back to me. I had stood up for Quasimodo. I had punched Phoebus in the face. Everyone had seen it. Both Esme and Phoebus would probably be out to get me now. And I sure as hell wouldn't be invisible anymore.

Damn.

I pulled myself out of my musings and looked over at Quasi, who was sitting on the toilet seat trying to catch his breath, still shaking. The sight of his injuries shocked me again and I quickly grabbed huge wad of toilet paper and ran it under the water, then tried to clean up his face. As soon as my hands got close he jerked away, eying me apprehensively, but after a moment he leaned forward again, a little calmer, and I quickly washed off the dried blood from his face, trying not to think about how close we were. He was so close that if it was any other situation I could just lean forward another few inches and close the distance between- My eyes widened and I stopped for a moment, my face and neck heating up as I tried to bury the thought. _Where the hell did that come from?_

I threw away the wet tissues and gave him some dry ones to staunch his nose, avoiding his eyes as I looked him over. "Maybe you should come to the sink. There's still blood in your jacket. And your hair."

He nodded and got up, his legs a bit wobbly from the shock still, and I turned on the tap and motioned for him to dip his head in. He did, and I washed out the blood, admiring the colour of his hair as I did. Not even Bex had such vibrant red hair._ Maybe I should dye my hair again soon..._

I suddenly remembered what he had been doing before the boys had appeared. Gently pushing his head out of the sink, I washed my hands and cupped them under the water. "Still thirsty?"

He looked at me, surprised.

"You did say you wanted a drink."

So he drank. Later on I would wonder why I didn't think it was weird for him to be drinking out of my hands, but at that moment I was only thinking about helping a friend. When he had finished drinking and wiped his mouth dry, he thanked me quietly and turned away. For a moment, I though I saw him wipe his eyes, too. But I wasn't finished yet. I tapped his shoulder and tugged on his jacket. "You should probably take this off."

He hesitated, obviously not wanting to give it up.

"It'll be easier," I added.

Sighing, he unzipped and shrugged out of it, and I gasped when I saw why he'd wanted to keep it on. There were cuts and bruises all over his arms, some fresh from today and others, strangely, obviously older than a few days. _What has he been doing...?_

He saw me looking and looked away, trying to hide them from my view but obviously unable to. I said nothing, though, and took the jacket and started washing it in silence.

"So, are you ok?" I asked after a few moments of secretly observing him.

I could hardly hear his reply, but I was sure he mumbled "No, I just bleed for fun."

"All, right, no need to get snarky-" I stopped to process what he said and smiled a little. "You know, I think that's the first time I've ever heard sarcasm from you. Well done."

He humphed, turning away to get some more toilet paper, and I finished washing the jacket and laid it over the sink. He finally stopped bleeding a short time after and threw out the tissue, then looked at me expectantly, as if to say 'what do I do now?'.

"Oh, right." I checked my watch and found we had about 10 minutes before the bell rang, then tried to think of what to do. I didn't like the idea of him going out there without me and probably getting beaten up again, but he couldn't stay in the toilet for the rest of the day. Where could he go where he'd be safe...? I almost laughed out loud when it came to me.

"I have a place for you to go," I told him, unlocking the door and peering out. The area was almost empty, so we tiptoed out and I lead him around the school, avoiding people until we stopped in front of the door to the art-room. I unlocked it and stepped in, beckoning him in after me, turned on the lights and pulled out a few chairs. "Here you go."

He stood in front of me, tapping his foot nervously. "W-why are you helping me? W-why did you stand up for me?"

"I was angry." I sat down and idly remembered that our books were still out there on the floor somewhere. "I couldn't stand there and do nothing, like usual. You were getting hurt. Besides, I've been wanting to punch that guy for a long time, so he had it coming."

"B-but why?"

I looked down. "I felt ashamed. All this time you've been getting bullied and I never did anything even though I could've. I'm sorry for that. But I wanted to help you all the time. I guess what really got me mad was that you were being falsely accused. I hate that."

"So... you don't believe I did it?"

I stood up and went to the door as the bell rang. "Of course I don't believe you did it, Kaz. I know you too well. You'd never do something like that." I checked the corridor outside, then looked back at him with a smile. "Ok, you can stay in here for the rest of the day. No-one ever come here, so you should be safe. I'll come and check on you later."

He nodded soberly, and I left, confident that he would be ok.

* * *

**_Reviews? Just to let me know what you think?_**

**_Also, just randomly, what's your favourite musical? Mine is 'Wicked' :)_**


	12. Lego House

**_So, last chapter, Mich finally took a stand and helped Quasimodo. This chapter, the girls are introduced, do some Esme-bashing and start questioning Mich's judgement, and another face gets slammed. Trying not to give too much away. You know what? Why don't I just let you find out for yourself. _**

**_Read on and don't forget to review :)_**

* * *

I'm gonna paint you by numbers and color you in  
If things go right we can frame it, and put you on a wall

And it's so hard to say it but I've been here before  
And I'll surrender up my heart and swap it for yours

I'm out of touch, I'm out of love  
I'll pick you up when you're getting down  
And out of all these things I've done I think I love you better now

I'm out of sight, I'm out of mind, I'll do it all for you in time  
And out of all these things I've done, I think I love you better now.

'Lego House'- Ed Sheeran.

* * *

Everything suddenly seemed a lot brighter now, somehow. I felt free, like someone had shoved all the guilt and bad feelings I had into a bottle and thrown it into the ocean for someone else to find. I was no longer preoccupied with anger over the situation. For the first time in a while, I was able to pay attention properly in class that afternoon, even surprising the teacher a few times by not only answering but getting it right. Of course I thought of Quasimodo and everything that had happened, but I didn't dwell on the situation. It felt resolved- for now, anyway. I knew things weren't finished yet- not by a long shot- but it felt so good to know that I had done something right that I let myself forget, just for a few moments, my change in status that would have inevitably occurred.

I was by no means invisible anymore.

I couldn't help but notice how people already looked at me and whispered about me and speculated about me now in class. I couldn't pretend not to see it. It was the very thing that my friends and I had feared for a long time, being the centre of everyone's attention and vulnerable to being picked on. But somehow, it wasn't my main concern anymore. There was something else I had to do now.

I had to set things straight with my friends.

* * *

Pushing through the hordes of smelly, noisy teenagers that once again crowded the halls at second break, I grabbed my lunchbag from my locker, ignoring the stares that followed me, and made my way outside to our usual eating spot- the roots of and old, dead tree that sat between the soccer field and the basketball courts. Sure enough, just as I expected, there sat Em, Dez and Bex, deep in conversation, which they broke off as soon as they saw me coming. I slowed down a little when I saw this, shocked at the idea that they were talking about me. My paranoia kicked into overdrive. What were they saying? What were they planning? Were they gonna kick me out? Had they heard about what happened earlier and decided they couldn't be friends with a sympathiser?

It took me a few moments, but I managed to calm down, paste on a smile and keep going, and if necessary, face the music.

When I reached them, Dez opened her mouth to say something, but I quickly held up my hand and sat down in front of them. "No, I have to say something first and I want you all to hear it." I looked directly at Em. "Em, I'm sorry for calling you a selfish prig and all the other things I said. It wasn't the right way to treat a friend, and I hope you can forgive me. You were right, for the most part- you saw me that day the first time Esme ragged on him. I've been a coward and a bad friend. I'm sorry."

The girls exchanged glances, and Dez looked pointedly at Em, who cleared her throat self-consciously. "Yes, fine, I forgive you. I'm sorry too- like you said, what I said was true. But I shouldn't have said it. I was just fed up, I guess. But I am sorry now. Are we good now?"

I stuck out my hand, relieved. "We are definitely good now."

"We're glad to have you back, Mich," Bex said, leaning forward as Em shook my hand. I couldn't tell whether her eyes were shining with excitement or it was just the light on her glasses. Probably both. "Now, is it true, what everyone's saying about you?"

"I guess it depends on what they're saying." I fiddled with my paper bag, suddenly uneasy. The fact that everyone was talking about me was daunting enough, but not knowing what was going to happen next was kinda scary when you're used to being under the radar. Couple that with the knowledge that your school was known by everyone as 'one of those schools' and I had myself a pretty terrifying situation. Other schools didn't avoid taking the bus with our students for nothing.

"They're saying that you punched Phoebus's lights out and defended Quasimodo when he was bashing him up." She peered at my downcast eyes. "Is it true?"

"Yes." I shrugged at their wide eyes. "What? He was being beat up. There was blood. I got angry. I decided to do something about it. And," here I started laughing, "I punched Phoebus James in the face, which I've wanted to do for a _really_ long time."

Dez shook her head. "But that's not all. There's also rumors going around that you and Quasimodo are an item and Esme's going to... well, she's going to kill you."

I shrugged again. "Let her try. It's not like I'm scared or anything."

Bex nudged me. "Liar."

"Ok, so maybe I am a little worried." I opened my lunchbag and pulled a face. "But there's nothing I can do about it now. I'll just have to take it as it comes."

"Wow, you're sure brave."

"No I'm not, I'm stupid. This wasn't well-thought-out or clever." I sighed and stood up. "If Esme's going to kill me, she'll try to take my friends down too. I should probably stop hanging out with you guys now."

"Oh, no, Mich, we're all friends, you don't have to-"

"But she's got a point," Em interrupted Dez. "Esme will target us _because_ we're friends with her. That's the way she works."

"Which is why staying away from you is protecting you." I made to leave, but Dez put up a hand to stop me.

"Where will you go?"

"The art room, to eat with Kaz."

Em snatched up her lunch and jumped up to join me. "I'm coming with you."

"Wait, what? But you just said-"

Dez got up too, followed closely by Bex. "I think I will too."

"Me too."

"But didn't you hear what I just said?" I protested. "You can't be seen with me!"

"So just make sure we aren't seen." She crossed her arms. "I want to meet this 'Kaz' of yours and see what it is about him that made you change your mind about everything."

I looked at them, gathered around me and waiting patiently for me to agree, and had to smile. These were the girls I knew and loved- strong, dependable, fun and awesome. Why had I ever thought anything bad about them? "Alright, you can meet him." I turned to Bex, who was hopping around excitedly. "But please don't overwhelm him with craziness. I don't know how much more of this day he can take."

"Yeah, first being bashed up for something he didn't do, then be saved by a knight in shining armor..." Em said jokingly.

"Oh, please." I started walking, heading for the side pathway that would take us around the edge of the school instead of through it. I didn't want to take any risks of being seen. As I did, I was flooded with relief for the fact that my friends obviously didn't believe the 'kidnapping' thing either. They knew better than to believe that I would protect a dangerous person.

Bex caught up and nudged me, and now there really was a glint in her eye. "So, 'Kaz'. Is that some kind of nickname?"

I looked at my feet, watching her out of the corner of my eye. "Yeah...?"

Dez joined me on the other side. "Who came up with that one?"

"Me, mostly."

Em looked at me pointedly. "Really?"

"Problem?" I asked defensively.

"Oh. My. Gosh." Em skipped ahead and stopped in front of me, forcing me to stop too. "You gave him a nickname?" She threw her head back and laughed incredulously. "A nickname? Seriously? You only nickname people you're very close to, Mich. Like us. You don't just nickname random guys who you decide to befriend. Once you name it, you become attached to it."

"But Quasimodo is a long name, and besides, it was actually Katie who gave me the idea!" I pushed past her and kept walking, peering around the corner and sticking to the outside of the building. The girls followed closely behind me, quiet but obviously now contemplating whether I was getting too attached. I wanted to tell them to forget it, and I would've if I could be sure myself, but for the moment I was just as confused as they were. With a feeling of dread, I realized that this was something they were probably going to keep bringing up for a long time after this. Like I needed all that confusion and self-doubt while I was worrying about my almost-certain death by Esme.

"You know, now I think about it, you never actually said anything about the _first_ part of the rumors we brought up," Dez said, trying to fake nonchalance but unable to fight the teasing grin that stretched across her face.

"What was that again?"

"That you and him are actually, you know, together."

"Well, that's one rumor you can forget, because it's not true," I answered sharply, pushing open the glass doors that were the entrance to the art block and holding open for them. "We're friends. What I did for him I would've done for any of you guys."

They filed in silently down to the end of the hall and stood outside the door as I fiddled with the lock, and somehow I felt they weren't convinced. "I'm serious, guys. There's nothing between us."

"We believe you." Dez said quietly. The others nodded.

"Good. Then I don't want to hear anymore about it." I pushed open the door and peeked in. "Quasi?"

He was sitting where I had left him, slumped over the table, and at first I thought he was asleep. But then he stirred and turned to look at me, a slight smile on his lips, and whatever I had been thinking at that moment evaporated from my mind, because he was smiling and suddenly that was all I could see, upturned lips and sparkling gems for eyes and floppy, wavy, red hair, and everything else melted into nothingness and ugly became beautiful. And then I blinked, startled, as it all came back and one of the girls cleared their throats impatiently and everything was normal again. Except it wasn't- I was very aware that that was just a lie I told myself to avoid thinking about it.

The pause was long enough for him to sense that something was different, and the smile vanished and was replaced by concern. "M-Michigan?"

I shook my head slightly to get rid of the fuzz and tried to focus, which was now very hard given that my friends were outside and I wasn't sure if what they had been saying was true after all. Suddenly this didn't seem like such a great idea after all. "Hi. I, um, I'm sorry, I have my friends with me. Is it ok if they come it too?"

The look of fear that crossed his face was so sad that it almost broke my heart. "Oh, n-no, I-I-I-"

"They're nice, really nice, and they've promised not to freak you out. Please, they won't bite."

He shrugged helplessly, still fearful but willing to trust me, and I pushed the door open wider and let the girls walk in, then locked it behind us.

"So." I walked up and stood in front of them. "Girls, this is Quasimodo. Kaz, these are my friends, Emma, Desiree and Rebekah, otherwise known as Em, Dez and Bex." I pointed to each of them in turn and sat down, opening my lunchbag. "Girls, make yourselves at home. Kaz, I brought some food. I couldn't get your lunch cuz I don't know your locker combo, but you can share mine if you want. I have an orange and a sandwich."

"Ok..."

I took them out. "Dez, can you please get me a knife? Blue cabinet, second drawer."

She did, then stepped back next to Em, both of them standing awkwardly to the side, unsure of what to do. I doubted they realized that they were contributing to the general unease, but they were. Bex, however, threw away any reservations she might've had and pulled up a chair beside me.

"So, Quasimodo." She smiled brightly. "I'm Bex, obviously, and the first thing I want to say is that I'm sorry for the way you've been treated so far at this school. It's not fair for anyone to go through that. Secondly, I just want you to know that I don't believe you did what everyone says you did."

"Really?" Quasi's tone was a mixture or hope and sadness, which puzzled me a bit. Why would he be sad that someone believed him? "You d-don't"

"Sure I don't." She winked at him conspiratorially. "Us Rangas have to stick together, right?"

He looked down, probably embarrassed by her forwardness, and I slowly began to cut my orange, the art-knife going through the thick skin like butter. "Esme's just evil for spreading those lies about you."

"A witch," agreed Bex.

"A mean, irritatingly-perfect scumbag of the highest quality," added Em.

Des raised an eyebrow. "You mean there's different qualities of scumbag?"

"Of course. Esme is a high, cuz she's sophisticated, and so are those bimbo cheerleaders and half the drama club."

I passed Quasi half the orange slices, smiling at the decidedly funny turn of the conversation. "And Harley whats-his-name, you know that jerky guy who breaks all the rules, is a low, am I right?"

"Him, and those guys who go around tagging everything with sharpies, and the guys who shove kids into lockers, and people who kick puppies-"

"And guys who cheat on their girlfriends, and players, and vandals-"

"And Phoebus and his friends."

"Well, congratulations, you named just about every guy in the school." Em sat down at our table, finally comfortable in Quasi's presence. "And I'd have to agree with you there."

"But Esme's just... I dunno, she's just... she such a-"

"Biatch?" I offered.

Dez glared at me. "I was going to say bully."

I shook my head, sucking on my orange slice. "Nah, mine's better."

Quasi, who had been listening attentively to our ramblings, looked at all of us is surprise. "So, y-you all hate her?"

"Oh, no." I smiled evilly. "I'm not saying I hate her. I'm just saying that if she got hit by a train, I would be driving that train."

"No, we don't hate her." Em leaned back, shrugging. "We're just not necessarily excited about her existence."

"Our attitudes have some major issues with her personality."

Dez came over and sat with us. "I think she just needs a hug."

We looked at her.

"Around the neck," she added. "With a rope."

Bex giggled. Then me. Then Em. And then we were laughing, all the tenseness that was in the room evaporating in that moment.

"Or a high-five," I said, gasping for breath. "In the face. With a chair."

That started us off again and it was a few moments before we managed to regain our composure. As the laughter died down, I reached for my sandwich and cut it half, then passed half to Quasi, who had been watching us with amusement. "The fact is, _everyone_ hates her, but no-one's ever been brave enough to stand up to her. Same with her sister, though I never knew much about her." I turned to the girls, who were now eating their lunches around the paint-splattered table next to us. "Both of them went to Bundamba, you know. Then after primary school, for some bizarre reason a great big group of us moved here- Me, the Azarolas, Phoebus and a few others. The girls were quick to establish their places in the school hierarchy, and Phoebus wanted a new start, so he took up with Esme, and the rest is history."

"You have to wonder _why_ she's the way she is, though," said Dez, chucking her rubbish at the bin and missing. "There's gotta be a reason, surely."

"Eh, I don't care. I'm sure not going to ask her."

"She wouldn't tell you anyway."

"And she'd probably kill you if you found out, no joke."

"Huh. She's gonna kill me anyway. That reminds me, where _is_ she today?"

"At the tables near the tuckshop, I saw her there earlier. I think she's telling her story to anyone who'll listen."

"As long as she stays there, I'll be fine." I glanced at the clock on the wall and stood up. "The bell's going to ring soon, so you girls should probably get going. I'll be out soon."

Reluctantly, they all nodded and stood up, putting away their stuff and cleaning up the remains of their food. I went over and unlocked the door and waited while they said goodbye to Kaz, then they all trouped out and waved to me while I shut the door after them.

"So," I said as I began cleaning up the table, "What did you think of them?"

Quasi sat back, looking relieved. "Y-you were right, th-they are nice. I d-didn't expect them t-to be so kind."

I sat down in front of him. "There's one thing you should know about my friends, Quasi. I only choose the best. Sure, they make mistakes and they're crazy and stupid sometimes, but they are some of the best people in my life. I don't have as many friends as other people do, but I have them. And now I have you, too."

He didn't look at me for a few moments, but when he did, there were tears in his tears. Worried, I scooted closer and touched his arm. "Oh no, Kaz, what's wrong? What did I say?"

He shook his head, blinking furiously. "N-no, n-nothing's wrong. I-I've j-just n-never met anyone as k-kind as you. I've n-never had a real f-friend before." He sniffed and cleared his throat. "Th-the closest th-thing I've had to a f-friend was m-my m-mother, and when sh-she d-died..." He shook his head again.

I squeezed his arm, tears pricking my own vision. "It's ok, I understand. I really do."

He squinted at me, confused. "H-how c-could you p-possibly understand?"

"Let's just say..." I sighed and looked at the ceiling. "That I have a lot of experience. I know what it's like to be bullied and have no friends. I can't say I know exactly how you feel, but I have a pretty good idea."

He nodded in understanding, and I slowly took my hand away and sat back, just watching him. He looked up and met my gaze, and I smiled a little. _I don't know what everyone's on about, _I thought idly. _He's not really that bad-looking once you get used to it..._

And then the bell rang.

I jumped up and pushed my chair in, suddenly mortified without knowing why. "And now, I have to go. You can stay in here for the rest of the day. I don't know if I can come and see you after school, so you might have to make your way out by yourself. But your pick-up place isn't too far from here- just stick to the fence and you'll find it."

"Michigan?"

"Call me Mich." I shrugged, swinging the key on it's chain on my way to the door. "We are friends, after all."

"F-friends t-tell each other the truth, right?"

"That's right."

He looked down, fidgeting nervously. "I have t-to t-tell you something."

I turned to face him, worried. "What is it?"

"I... Ah... I-I..." He seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. "Y-you see... I..."

I crossed over, knelt in front of him and took his hands in mine. "What is it? Don't be afraid, I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. We're friends, right?"

He nodded, staring at our hands clasped together. Was it just my imagination, or did he start breathing quicker? And I could've sworn that his skin got a little darker, almost like he was blushing. But it could've been the light. I remembered the way he looked at me in the hall when I grabbed his hand and helped him up. What was it about me touching him that got him so worked up? Had he really never been touched before?

"So tell me."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and if I hadn't been holding them, his hands would've been shaking. "Y-you kn-know what everyone's b-been s-saying about me?"

"Yes?" Suddenly I had a bad feeling about what he was going to say next.

"I... I-I... I did."

I tried to stifle my gasp and restrained myself from pulling away, but inside I was in shock. "Y-you did?"

"Yes."

I looked at the ground, shaking my head. I didn't know what to think, and certainly not what to feel. Angry? Afraid? Sad? "Why?"

"I-I had to."

I looked up at him, surprised and confused and little bit upset. "What do you mean, you had to? It's not like you didn't have a choice-"

"I didn't."

"Wha-" He opened his eyes, and they were full of pain and sadness. And then I knew he was telling the truth. "You mean someone made you do it?"

He looked down and sighed, a heavy, heartbreaking sigh. "Yes."

"Who?"

He was silent.

"Quasi? Who made you do it?"

"I can't... I can't tell you. I'm n-not allowed to t-tell you."

I rested my head on our clasped hands, confused and unsure. I had no idea what I was supposed to do in a situation like this. I couldn't make him tell me, and I couldn't tell on him. It just wasn't an option. Perhaps my best action would be to stay silent. I looked up and glanced at the clock on the wall- I only just had time to get to class. "I'm guessing it took a lot of courage to tell me all you did. Don't worry, I'll keep my word. I won't tell anyone." I retracted my hands and straightened up. "And now, I _really_ have to go."

* * *

"That is one serious right hook you have there!"

I looked up, about to close my locker. It was late afternoon, just before the last class of the day, and I was feeling tired, grumpy and hungry as a result of my sparse lunch. And now here was Phoebus, leaning against the locker next to me and smiling cheekily, and I couldn't resist the idea of a verbal battle with one of the people I hated most.

"Awww, did I hurt your pretty face?" I countered, hand on hip. I was surprised that he was talking to me like this, a seemingly normal conversation that he had initiated, but I was mostly suspicious. He never talked to me. He just didn't. _This is going to be fun..._

"A little bit, yeah." He touched his nose protectively. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"I hope so."

"You surprised me, actually. I would never have thought that shy little Michi could pack such a punch!"

I made a show of flexing my hand and gave him a look. "What did I say about the name?"

"Ok, ok, I was just kidding. Down, boy." He looked around, and I noticed that there seemed to be an awful lot of people listening in to our conversation, though they tried to look innocuous. "But man, you can sure pick people to sympathize with. Didn't see that coming either."

"Oh?"

"But then, you always did have a thing for the weird ones."

At this comment, I smiled. Now was my chance. "And you would know that more than anyone, right James?"

He frowned, pretending confusion, but I was please to note that he shifted uneasily in my gaze. "What are you talking about?"

I did an Esme now, looking around to make sure everyone was listening. "I seem to recall a certain dorky blond kid with glasses who couldn't achieve any kind of popularity until he got a girlfriend and was suddenly deemed 'datable', and who allowed himself to be stolen away from his girlfriend without any explanation whatsoever to her. That poor girl, what she must've gone through! What do you think of someone who acts that way?" This question was directed to the people listening, who shook there heads and murmured in disapproval. "My sentiments exactly. Now, who could that have been, I wonder?" I pretended to think while Phoebus stood there uncomfortably and the people around us started grinning and nudging each other. Then I clicked my fingers and looked up, fake realization on my face. "Oh, that's right! That was you!"

A titter went around the hallway and I smirked, enjoying my new-found ability to bring him down a peg or two. This was turning out more fun than I had anticipated. _I should've done this years ago!_ Still, I didn't let my satisfaction cloud my suspicions. I was still constantly looking out for something that would show this all up as fake. And I wasn't disappointed. The crowd's attention (for it was a decent-sized crowd now, unashamedly gawking at our confrontation) suddenly seemed to shift to somewhere behind me just as Phoebus leaned closer to talk to me.

"I remember all of that. You may not think so, but I do. And the thing is, I was young and didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean for you to get hurt." He sounded sincere, but I didn't believe a word of it. Unlike most girls, I didn't wait around for guys to see the error of their ways and come begging for forgiveness. I didn't want Phoebus back. I was more interested in revenge. So my mind was clear and my expression was a clear representation of the classic 'bitch please' face as I listened to his pointless apology. "And I know that after all this time, you're still mad about what happened, and I can understand that. I know you don't believe me, but sometime I think back on those times when we were kids and... I kind of miss them. I kind of miss... you."

The moment he glanced behind me and smirked, I knew I had to act. Still pretending to listen closely, I let my hand creep up to my almost-closed locker door and swing it open a little wider, then I stepped forward (and, to my chagrin, closer to Phoebus) so it was behind me and propped my elbow against the edge, tense and waiting. _Any moment now..._

"And now I know exactly what I was missing," Phoebus went on, oblivious to all my preparations for the coming attack. If anything, he probably thought he was getting to me. "Forget Esme, you have fire, and I like it. In fact I love it." He took a deep breath and stared deep into my eyes, and I had to restrain myself from headbutting him. "Actually, what I've been wanting to say... what I've been wanting to say for a while now..."

Now I could hear the footsteps, slow and creeping, approaching me from behind, and I could almost feel the presence of the person behind me. If I had been truly listening to Phoebus, I wouldn't have picked any of this up, but thankfully I was aware and slightly paranoid. I fancied I could even hear their breathing, whoever they were.

_Wait for it..._

"I meant what I said back then, and I just want you to know that although it's been a while, I still-"

The crowd seemed to hold their breath, and in that split second I slammed my fist back against the door and felt the metal connect with the face of the person behind me. The girl gave a shriek and dropped like a stone, inadvertently also dropping her iPod and the cream pie she had been about to shove in my face.

Everyone gasped and pressed closer, trying to see, and Phoebus took a step back, shocked at this sudden development. I looked down at the girl- some crony of Esme's- who was groaning and holding her face and about to roll into the cream pie mess, then crossed my arms and smiled up at Phoebus. "You were saying?"

He stared at the girl on the ground, eyes wide and face pale. "Uh... no... ah... forget it, it's nothing."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself. Wow, two noses in one day. I am on a roll!" Suddenly I felt a bit sorry for the poor girl. It wasn't her fault that Esme was a manipulating bully. I held out my hand for her to take, and she took it, glaring at me, and let me help her up. She went and stood next to Phoebus, both of them unsure of what to next next. I doubt Esme had been planning on this.

"All right, you lot," I addressed the crowd, giving them all a stern look. "There's nothing more to see here. Move on, please. Get outta here."

They moved on, whispering and shooting glances back at us, and I allowed myself to relax for a moment, breathing a sigh of relief and rubbing the bridge of my nose. It had been a long and eventful day, and it wasn't over yet.

"Ok, you two, you can go." I turned around and started walking, eager to get to class and sit down. "Actually..." I looked back at them. "Nice try on your parts, but please tell Esme to fight her own fights from now on. This is getting exhausting."

They exchanged glances, a little fearful, and I left them there.

* * *

**_Even though it wasn't exactly the same, I have to say the smack-cam idea came from Leslie The Sorceress's story 'On My Own'. I thought I should give her credit for it since I wouldn't have thought of it otherwise._**

**_Please review :)_**


	13. Team

**_So I've been busy reading Frozen fanfiction and looking for hair dye and getting lost on Pinterest instead of updating, but I decided to just finish the chapter and get on with it. This is kind of a filler chapter and the first half is a bit boring but it had to be done *shrugs*. I wanted to make it longer but there you go. _**

**_Last chapter, Quasi reveals that he did try to abduct Esme but he didn't have a choice, the girls befriend him, and Mich bashes two noses in one day. This chapter, steps are taken to reduce the bullying and Mich and Esme have a little one-on-one 'chat'._**

**_Read on and please review._**

* * *

I'm kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air, so there  
So all the cups got broke shards beneath our feet but it wasn't my fault  
And everyone's competing for a love they won't receive  
'Cause what this palace wants is release

We live in cities you'll never see on screen  
Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things  
Living in ruins of a palace within my dreams  
And you know, we're on each other's team.

'Team'- Lorde.

* * *

That night, I sat down and told my parents everything.

Not _everything_, of course. My parents were strong and dependable, a little crazy, I might admit, but good people. I knew they would do anything to help me. We had a good relationship, the three of us, although dad and I got into fights a lot and mum became extremely emotional sometimes, but these thing were only natural. They loved me, and I knew that. But even I kept things from them sometimes. So I didn't tell them about the strange feelings I'd been getting lately, or the noses I may or may not have broken that day. I didn't tell them about the argument between me and Em that was now resolved. But I told them about Quasimodo and the bullying and our budding friendship. I told them about my desire to help and my fears that it would only get worse for both of us. And then I asked them what I should do.

"Tell someone," my mum said as soon as I'd finished.

"But I've already told you."

"I mean tell a teacher."

I rolled my eyes. "That might've worked in primary school, but not now. No-one likes a tell-tale, and it would become so much worse for me if I got someone in trouble."

"I could ring the school for you,' dad suggested.

"Just as bad." I shook my head, frustrated. "I just wish something could be done about bullying without specific people getting in trouble."

"Ignore it."

"Yes, turn the other cheek. If they find that they're not getting a reaction, they'll get bored and go bully someone else."

"Da-ad, you know that won't work here. This is high-school bullying we're talking about. These people live to make lives miserable and they never let up. And now it's gotten physical, too."

"Where are the teachers in all this?"

"Distracted, probably. Someone must keep them occupied when it's happening, cuz they're always 'conveniently' out of the way."

"So we're back to where we were." Mum thought for a moment. "Would you like us to take you our of school like we did in year 7?"

"NO!" I saw their surprise at my loudness and lowered my voice. "No. I don't want to leave Quasi. I'm the only friend he has. If I leave, he'll have no-one."

"Mich, I don't want you to go through unnecessary pain. You don't owe anyone anything," mum said gently. "You don't have to stay."

"I _want_ to stay, mum."

That silenced them, and I leaned back to watch them contemplate everything I just told them. As I did, I noticed how much older they were looking and wondered if that was my fault.

Dad was relatively tall -although compared to some of his Islander friends her was tiny- and very young-looking for his age of 43. Which created some awkwardness sometimes when people assumed that me and him were married. It happened so often now that we just found it better to laugh about it and move on instead of freaking out. His hair was dark, his eyes were brown-ish, and he wore glasses on his plump, square face. We were nothing alike in regards to looks, but our personalities practically matched. We clashed more than often as a result, but our arguments never lasted too long, partly because I was bad at holding grudges and partly because both of us hated conflict.

Mum, on the other hand. I got told all the time that I looked like my mother. With our similar face shape, noses and hair colour, I could see the resemblance. But her eyes were hazel while mine were almost betazoid-brown (ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the idea), her hair was thinner, she was about 40 kilos heavier and looked very much older.

Both of them had dealt with bullies in the past, but that was 25 years ago. Things were different now.

"We want what's best fro you," dad said eventually, " and the best advice we can give you is to ignore it, avoid it and try not to pick fights. But if you really want to do something about it that badly, you could talk to the guidance councilor. He would keep it confidential so you wouldn't get into further trouble. Or maybe we could talk to him for you."

"Or, even better..." I paused, my mind ticking over as an idea started to form. "Perhaps I could tell a teacher after all if I didn't mention names. Or... or you could call the principle... and then others' parents call too... maybe if they got enough calls, they'd actually do something!" I sat up straight. "Could you call tonight, please?"

Dad checked his watch. "Will there be anyone there?"

"The school doesn't close till 6, dad. It's only just gone 5:20." I jumped up and grabbed mum's mobile from the charger. "Call them now, quickly, so I can call the others."

Mum took it. "What do I say?"

I told her what to say and waited while she rang the school, excited at the prospect of things getting better.

"Hello? Yes, um, two of my children go to Park Ridge, and I'm calling because one of them is getting bullied every day and we want something done about it. No, they didn't want to be identified. I believe I will leave that to your discretion. Yes, it's just recently gotten physical. If the teachers were around to help do you think I'd be calling? No, I understand completely, but I don't think your policies are good enough. No, they won't, because I don't want my child to be afraid to go to school and have to hide in a classroom at lunchtime. Names?" She looked at me, barely missing a beat. "No, I'm afraid they didn't disclose any names. No, I get how difficult this is going to be, but if I may say so, your whole way of doing things leaves much to be desired. All I want to for you to do something to make it difficult for the bullies. Hard, I agree, but not impossible. Exactly, yes. Well, thanks for that. Yes, good bye." She passed me the mobile and smiled at me. "Happy?"

"You were awesome, mum." We high-fived and I then I called up Dez. "Hi, Dezzie? Listen, I have a mission for your mum. Can you put her on?"

* * *

Later, just as it turned 6, after half-a-dozen phone-calls and an unknown number of messages on Gmail chat, the last message came in from Bex and I all but started dancing in my seat.

"Is it done?" Dad asked, looking up from his computer with some amusement.

"Is what done?" asked Angie, strolling in with a book and her iPad, having overheard us.

I smiled happily. "Angie m'love, we are going to make high-school a better place for everyone. Just you wait..."

* * *

We didn't have to wait long.

Things didn't usually move very fast at Park Ridge, and sometimes it seemed it seemed like the place was run by idiots, the teacher being more interested in the color of your jumper than the kids smoking in the toilets or getting high at the bottom of the soccer field. Bullying had always, always been a problem, so much so that we were pretty well-known for it, and none of the numskulls who ran the school had ever tried to address it. So when the notice appeared on the board outside the office the next morning, announcing a new campaign and an emergency assembly that was to be held just before lunch, I was more than shocked. I was flabbergasted and unbelievably excited. Something was finally happening, and I had started it.

The girls met me at my locker, standing around and looking expectant. I answered their unasked questions with a round of high-fives and a breathless laugh. "You guys are the best, you know that?"

"Yea, yeah, we know we're awesome." Em leaned against the next locker as I opened mine and threw my stuff in. "I'm presuming it worked, then?"

"Haven't you seen the notice outside the office?" They all shook their heads. "Well, there's going to be an assembly before lunch to announce an anti-bullying campaign! High school is going to get better for everyone! So, yeah, i reckon it worked a right treat. Thanks, guys."

"Happy to help." Em pushed off and covertly slipped her phone out of her pocket to check the time. "You ready to go? We have English is a few minutes."

"Yeah, hang on." I ducked my head in my locker and rifled around for my english book. "I just... have... to find..."

"Um, Mich?"

"This!" I held up the book triumphantly, then stopped short. "What's wrong?"

Bex sounded a little panicked, tapping her feet nervously and biting her lip as she looked behind me. "Someone might need saving again, I think."

I turned and followed her gaze to the hallway intersection and rolled my eyes. "Oh, give me a break!"

It was Quasimodo, of course, shuffling down the hallway followed closely by Andrew and Brett, who were pelting spitballs and broken pencils at his back and calling out obscenities. As if they hadn't seen enough yesterday to know to stay away.

With an angry noise that sounded a bit like a wounded camel, I grabbed my textbook, slammed my locker door and stomped over to the scene, fuming.

Predictably, they stopped when they saw me. I suppose not everything from yesterday had been forgotten.

"Don't you losers have anything better to do?" I growled, glaring at them. "Spitballs and pencils- really? How juvenile can you get? Can't you leave the poor guy alone?"

"Oh, right, and are you gonna make us?"

"Yeah, you gonna take us on?"

"I might."

"Ohhhhh!" they mocked, but I noticed they didn't move any closer and that there was more uncertainty than bravado behind their voices.

"Yeah, go ahead, laugh." I stepped closer and smirked when I saw both of them take an almost imperceptible step back. "I don't think Phoebus was laughing yesterday when I decked him, or that girl who tried to smack-cam me and ended up with a door in her face for her troubles. You poor idiots have no idea what you're dealing with. So let me give you a little bit of advice." I raised my fist and my textbook. "Angry girl, heavy book, one hell of a right hook. And I just started a campaign that can get you both into trouble." I took another step and and smiled sweetly, an edge in my voice. "Basically... run."

They exchanged a fearful look; then, deciding I was serious, did exactly what I said. I turned to Quasi, nodding in satisfaction as the idiots stumbled around the corner and disappeared. I was getting used to this 'standing up for my friend' stuff.

"And that's the way to do it." I stuck my hands in my pockets and looked at me friend. "Good morning, by the way. You alright?"

"Y-you didn't have to d-do that," he said, looking at the ground and shifting his schoolbag uncomfortably. "I can ignore it."

"Yeah, well, I can't. And pretty soon we won't have to, anyway."

He looked at me quizzically. "You said something about a c-campaign?"

I tucked my book under my arm and barely managed to restrain myself from jumping up and down on the spot. "Yep, anti-bullying. I though the school needed a bit of brushing up, so I got one started. You won't have to worry about people picking on you anymore and you'll be able to walk around and not be scared-"

"How? When?"

"Last night." I grinned, feeling ready to burst with excitement. "Ok, so me and my parents were talking and they suggested I tell a teacher, but I took it one step further and got them to call the principle, and then I got the girls' parents to call as well, and I sent a few emails from different accounts, and I guess they got fed up with all the people calling and writing and complaining that they finally decided to do something, and now there's a campaign and an assembly later and I know it seems too good to be true but I really think everything's going to get better-" Here I stopped for breath and started coughing, choking in an effort so start breathing again. I guess it was a good idea to pause in-between sentences, huh?

Note to self- BREATHE MORE OFTEN.

Quasi stood there helplessly, not knowing what to do while I doubled over and tried not to die on the hallway floor. The people around us stopped and stared at me for a few moments, then continued on their separate ways, not one of them courteous enough to stop and try to help. Not that I wanted any help, but if I saw someone hacking their lungs up in the middle of the hallway I sure as hell wouldn't just leave them there.

"Are you ok?"

"I-(cough)- I'm fine-(wheeze)- I'm just- (splutter)-"

Then the girls arrived.

"Mich, are you alright?"

"What's wrong?"

"Why are you dying in the middle of the hallway?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" I waved them away and straightened up, my coughs dying down and lungs finally starting to take in air properly again. Shaking the hair out of my eyes, I looked around and took a deep breath. "Just got a little excited."

"So I see. Are you done?"

I took another deep breath and let it out slowly, and when I was sure that I wasn't going to start dying again any time soon, I looked at Quasi and inclined my head towards the girls. "Are you going to be alright by yourself now? Cuz we have to go to class, but if you need me to stay with you-"

"Go with your f-friends. I'll... I'll be fine."

I nodded and we moved away, the girls nodding their acknowledgement to Quasi, and we headed to our classes as the bell rang and the hallway became a mass of panic.

* * *

Later that day, after an extremely motivating assembly that promised a good start to the anti-bullying crackdown, I was loitering in the bathroom in front of the mirror when I heard the footsteps. Even concentrating on three things at once- attempting to fix the clumps in my mascara with my fingernail, rehashing the assembly in my mind and trying not to suffocate in the suspicious-smelling smoke that wafted from a few of the cubicles (the kind that misted up the room and made your eyes water if you weren't used to it)- I recognized the sound of those footsteps; the way the owner stalked through the entrance like she owned the place, swinging her hips like a model in shoes that were always at least an inch higher than regulation allowed. Yes, I recognized it. And the voice that went with it.

"So, you think I can't fight my own fights." It was more an amused statement than a question, but under the amusement was a hint of ice. She was not happy.

I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of having caught me off-guard. "Well, it kinda looks that way, doesn't it?"

She paced slowly behind me, hands clasped and back straight, heels clicking on the tile floor. She looked like a cobra about to strike. "Well, you're wrong. I am perfectly able to defend myself from people who get in my way."

I rolled my eyes. "Get in your way? God, you sound like a villain from a superhero movie. Get in the way of what, your popularity?"

"I've worked hard to be where I am today-"

"Where are you?"

She smirked. "Popular. I am popular. Something you will never be."

"If being popular means that I'm like you, then I'm glad. But you're not popular."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're feared." I turned to face her and crossed my arms, staring her down. "Popularity means that you're liked. You push people around and mess with their heads and bully them like it's a game, just for a laugh. Just to make sure they know who's in charge. You dominate people and make them so afraid of you. You make them hate you so much. And when someone like me protests against it, you send your minions to try and stamp them out. Well, it didn't work. I'm not going to sit back and ignore it anymore. Someone need to stand up to you and it might as well be m-"

Three quick steps and she was holding me backwards over the sink with a surprisingly strong grip for someone so small, halting my bravado in a move I was only partly prepared for. Her eyes were flashing with anger, and it occurred to me that this was the first time anyone had stood up to her like this. She wouldn't like not having complete control over the situation, and as she held me I realized that not all my fear of her had dissipated yet. _A queen bee can have a nasty sting when provoked..._

"I'm only going to say this once," she hissed, holding my gaze and daring me to look away. "I want you to stay away from me and my friends from now on, alright? I have a reputation to keep up, and I don't need you or anyone else getting in my way-"

"To stop you walking all over everyone?" I shook my head, just about fed up with this girl. I couldn't help it; my mouth was running away with me. "You know what? I never did anything to you. You're just creating your own little drama of insecurity like the attention-seeker you are. All I did was help out a friend who was being bullied, and though I know a concept like that is hard for you to understand, believe me when I say that I will _never_ let anything like that happen again. So stay away from _my_ friends, alright?"

"Or what?" She cocked her head and pushed me back further so that my back was touching the mirror, getting up in my face. "What are you going to do if I don't?"

"Nothing." I smiled sweetly at her infuriated face. "I'm not going to do anything. Because now that this anti-bullying thing has started, people with be watching, and if you don't stop doing what you do, those in authority will find out and measures with be taken." Now I shoved her away, watching her totter on her heels, trying to catch her balance. I almost laughed, but I didn't want to push it. "So stay away from me and my friends, including Quasimodo. I don't care what you think he did, or almost did, but I WILL protect the people around me. Have you got that?"

The hate in her eyes was strong. She wasn't afraid, but I'm sure she knew the balanced of power had tipped and that she had no choice but to agree. As for me, the last bit of fear and respect that I had had for her was gone. I had stood up to Esme Azarola and won. Sure, she was angry and would now be looking for revenge, but it wasn't important anymore. She was just a girl who liked to pretend she was important. And now I was looking at her up close I began to notice things about her that I hadn't noticed before. Like her nose- it was small and pretty, enviable to just about everyone, but now I saw that behind the perfect contouring of her makeup, it was actually flat and wide, not pert and perfect like I had thought. And her eyes- though the makeup made them look large and beautiful, they had a distinct almond-shape, almost Asian-like. Her skin was sun-kissed and perfectly tanned, but I had never gotten close enough to notice that behind the perfume was a strong fake-tan smell that surrounded her like an aura, and unlike Ems, it definitely didn't look natural. How much more of her was fake? What was she, really? And why had I never noticed before?

Esme blinked and stepped back, ice queen once again, and crossed her arms. I matched the gesture. "Am I clear?"

She pursed her lips, not at all happy but seeing no choice other than to agree. "Crystal." With that, she turned and all but ran out of the bathroom, looking for all the world like a bratty little child who didn't get her own way and was storming off in a rage. Once she was gone, I slumped against the sink and let out a sigh of relief, surprised at my own daring.

Sudden clapping broke out from behind the last few cubicle doors, and I grinned weakly as one of the smokers called out, "You go, girl."

"Thank you, thank you very much." I straightened up and bowed towards the cubicles, then left to the sound of laughing and more clapping. Everything was good.

_Punching Phoebus... smashing a random girl's face... basically becoming Quasi's bodyguard... a real, live confrontation with Esme... improving school-life as we know it..._ All this from me, the shy, unremarkable wallflower.

I had sure changed a lot in the last couple of months.

And despite the results to my status in the school, I liked it.

* * *

**_Wasn't sure how to end this. Hope it wasn't too bad. The further in I get, the shakier it is. But I suppose since it's just filler it can be forgiven, right?_**

**_Don't forget to be awesome! (And review :))_**


	14. Everybody Hurts

**_Last chapter, Mich stood up to Esme and changed the school. This chapter, there's sneaking around, music, and something shocking that will be continued in the next chapter. Read on and please review :)_**

* * *

When your day is long  
And the night, the night is yours alone  
When you're sure you've had enough  
Of this life, well hang on

Don't let yourself go  
'Cause everybody cries  
And everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong  
Now it's time to sing along  
When your day is night alone  
If you feel like letting go  
If you think you've had too much  
Of this life, well hang on

Everybody hurts  
Take comfort in your friends  
Everybody hurts  
Don't throw your hand, oh no.

'Everybody Hurts'- R.E.M.

* * *

Facing down Esme made me feel empowered, freer than I had been in a long time. The biggest bully in Park Ridge was no longer so fearsome or so big anymore. Something had started, a new way of doing things, a new age if you will. A safer, happier age of high school. Too bad not everyone was around the first few days to enjoy it.

Yep, Quasi was way for the rest of the week. Again.

School just wasn't the same without him. I mean I was happy enough, seeing the watchful teachers in the hallways and joyful students who didn't have to worry about being beaten up and anti-bullying posters plastered all over the walls. And I could hang out with my friends with a clear conscience, knowing that I wasn't putting them in danger. And people noticed me, nodded at me in passing and looked at me and, to my annoyance, they still whispered about me. Like what I had done was any secret. There were also whispers of the Gang splitting up, Esme and Phoebus in particular, which were all steadfastly denied. The said couple were rarely seen together anymore, and whenever Esme saw me she would give me a murderous glare, like it was my fault. Which it probably was. I had no doubt that she was going to try to get me back sometime, which would be a little difficult now under the circumstances. I swear, if looks could kill... Not that I cared. School wasn't scary anymore, and I should've been thankful for that.

But I still missed his quiet company Even if we still hardly spoke when we hung out, it was nice to just sit and think with someone, to feel like you could protect them from anything. I had laughed at the 'knight in shining armor' thing, but that's kinda what I felt like. A clumsy, distracted, nerdy, knight in shining armor. And though it wouldn't have hurt anyone for Quasi to stand up for himself from time to time, I liked being all tough and protective. It made me feel needed, like I had a job to do.

I was starting to wonder about his strange absences from school. He seemed to be sick an awful lot, although there was never any sign of it when he was at school. It was always two or three days, he never looked any different afterwards (although he seemed even more withdrawn when he came back, if that was possible) and when I came around with his homework, I was never allowed to see him. I was a little suspicious, but what of, I wasn't sure yet. It was strange, anyway. But then, Quasimodo himself was still much of a mystery to me. So that Friday, I decided to try something a little different. Activate stealth mode...

* * *

We pulled up in Notre-Dame Court as usual, mum leaving the engine running and pulling out a book to drown out the sounds of arguing coming from the back seat (we had picked everyone up at the same time and they weren't taking kindly to being thrown together in a confined space), and I jumped the fence and tiptoed to the front door. But this time, instead of knocking, I _mimed_ it, then pretended to have a conversation with someone on the other side. It was all silent, of course, and just for show. To anyone watching (read: mum) it had to look like I was being directed around the back.

I stepped away from the door and started walking around the side of the house, choosing my steps carefully. The general dishevelment of the front yard continued around the side, with over grown grass and miscellaneous items littering the ground and who-knew-what creatures dwelt under the mess. I identified old shoes, more glass bottles, rubbish and random, rusty metal parts mixed in with everything else, and I hoped with some trepidation that I wouldn't step on anything sharp. I didn't think my beat-up, imitation-converse shoes could hold up very well if I stood on a nail.

The wall I followed had windows, but most of them were covered by curtains or boarded up. Cobwebs were strung from them to the overgrown shrubs on the fence, and I had to grab a stick and hold it in front of my head so that they wouldn't catch in my hair. The whole place was a wreck, and I hoped with all my heart that it looked better inside that it did outside. _What a place to live in..._

I was trying to navigate around a mound of broken bricks and glass and avoid a huge web with a protective golden orb spider in the middle when I heard the music.

It was coming from the corner window, the one that wasn't covered by anything and was slightly open. Just a slow strumming, obviously a guitar. Who could resist investigating? I mean, really? Open window, music, and me already exploring and looking for answers... I glanced behind me and figured if I went all the way to the window I would still be in sight of the car. You may think it's a strange thing to worry about, but I knew mum would freak if she couldn't see me. It's not like she knew the people here. Anything could happen to me. So I had to be careful.

Down went the spider, it's home ruined and wrapped around my stick, and when I was sure it wasn't going to come after me I picked my way through the mess to the open window and peered in.

The tiny room was immaculate. There was nothing on the walls or floor, the books stacked neatly on the little desk in the corner of the room, the bed positioned under the window, bedspread grey and boring-looking to match the equally grey and boring-looking carpet. Quasimodo sat on the bed with his back to me, plucking at the strings of his guitar. I didn't recognize the song, but it was melodic and pretty and soothing and I found myself leaning against the house, staring into space, listening to the song instead of doing what I came here to do. The book in my arms suddenly reminded me that I couldn't stay for long.

He stopped playing then and sighed, leaning on the guitar like he had the weight of the world on his twisted shoulders (for all I knew, maybe he did) and I figured that maybe now was the time to make my presence known.

I swear he jumped ten feet in the air when I cleared my throat.

"What the...?" He grabbed the guitar before it slid off the bed and put it down where it couldn't fall and stared at me, his eyes bugging out of his head. I waved, smiling sheepishly, a little amused at his reaction.

"Hey, Kaz."

He looked around rapidly as if he expected someone to walk in on us at any moment, his expression almost terrified. "W-w-what are you d-doing here? H-how...?"

I held up the books, confused and not at all amused anymore. Why on earth would he be scared of me being there? "Homework."

"B-but..."

"But why would I come to your bedroom window instead of going to the front door like usual?"

He nodded.

I shrugged. "I wanted to see if you were ok. You dad won't let me see you, and I heard your playing- which is very good, by the way- and I'm a naturally curious person, so here I am."

"B-b-but you can't b-be here, my f-father might find you and then you'd be in t-trouble-"

"But I am here. Don't worry, no-one will find out and I can't stay long, anyway." I looked at my watch, then at the waiting car where mum was still peacefully reading, and figured I had a little time. "Right now I'm more interested in your music. Who taught you to play like that?"

He blinked, torn between wanting me to leave and talking about what was obviously his passion. "N-no-one taught me, I just learned."

"Can you teach me?" was my next question.

"Teach you?"

"Well, the online tutorials aren't doing it for me and I don't have the time or money for lessons, and you already know guitar, and we spend a good amount of time together, so..."

"I-I suppose I could..." He hesitated and glanced at the door. "You shouldn't be here, he might hear you..."

I nodded and passed the books through the window. "You're dad really doesn't like visitors, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Alright, I'm going." I stepped away, then came back again. "Promise you'll help me?"

He nodded quickly. "I promise. Now, go, please."

"Alright, I'm going. Bring your guitar on Monday, ok?" I left for real this time, not waiting to hear his answer. I somehow knew without a doubt that he would do exactly what I asked. He gave me the impression that would do anything for his friends- heck, he'd probably stand on his head if I asked him to. _Such a devoted friends could easily be taken advantage of... not that I would, but others wouldn't be so kind. For instance, that business with Esme. Whoever asked him to do that must've been close to him._ I shook my head as I jumped the fence- an easy task by now- and headed for the car. It wasn't my business to speculate about that- Quasimodo obviously didn't want anyone to know, so I would try to honor his wishes... what was that? I turned as a flash of yellow caught my eye. I hadn't noticed it before, either because I was so intent on snooping around or because the branches of the shrub next to the fence had been covering it, but my climbing had disturbed the shrub and now it was visible- a little yellow sign, about the size of an A5 piece of paper, with the shape of an eye in the center. A silent protest against Vietnamese and Cambodian farming. Not many suburban houses cared about that, since it was only the people of Greenbank and Munruben who thought they were affected by it. Those with the sign where often prejudiced against the farmers themselves and very dogmatic in their views, prone to disrespectful, racist comments and actions. And I hated prejudice, hated it with a passion, so those who supported it were not very high in my esteem.

But that was alright. I didn't like Officer Frollo very much to start with, so this didn't change my views of him in the slightest. It only made me pity Quasi even more that he had to live with a rude, racist person like that. My only worry was that he might share those views. If he did, I might have to reeducate him...

Mum rolled down her window then and asked me why I was just standing there in the middle of the street, so I got in the car, looking forward to Monday.

* * *

Quasimodo was as good as his word, and on Monday he came to school with his guitar. I brought mine as well and stored them both in the art-room, and when lunchtime rolled around we were ready for jamming.

Or learning, anyway.

"So, what exactly do you want me to teach you?" Quasi asked, carefully taking his guitar out of it's case. It was a beautiful instrument, reddish-brown and engraved with flowing patterns and symbols, and from the scuffs and marks etched into it I could see that it was old and had been well loved in it's time. And it was no less loved now than it was then, as I saw from the gentle, almost reverent way he held it. It made me a bit conscious of my own guitar, which was just a cheap knock-off from Aldi and wasn't even tuned properly despite being practically new. But right now I didn't really care what it looked like, as long as we could make music.

"Well, I know a few chords and a bit of rhythm, but it's more banging on the thing than strumming it. I just need someone tune it and then I want to learn some easy songs. Think you can help?"

"I can try." I handed over my guitar and he started to tune it, strumming on the strings and twiddling the knobs until it sounded just right. When he was done, he handed it back. "Here. It's tuned now. D-do you have a song you want to learn?"

"Not exactly, but I know there's a website with a list of easy songs. Let me just find it..." I opened my laptop and booted it up while Quasi started to strum absentmindedly on his guitar while he waited. As I searched, I started to sing under my breath, humming the bits I didn't know and swaying a little to the tune in my head, something I did a lot when doing something that didn't require a lot of thought. It was a few moments before I realised that Quasi had stopped playing and was staring at me. "What?"

"I know that song," he murmured.

"I heard it on the radio this morning. Can you play it?"

He nodded and found his place on the guitar, and plucked out the first few chords. With a nod from me, he continued on.

"Huh…" I smiled and started to sway again as he played out a very good cover of 'Everybody Hurts'. A little halting and hesitant, I admit, but it was clear that he knew the song well, even humming the melody as he played. I closed my eyes when he reached the chorus and sang along softly. "Everybody hurts, sometimes… everybody cries. And sometimes, everybody hurts… sometimes, everybody cries…"

The music stopped, and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me again. Shifting self-consciously, I looked down at my guitar and tapped my fingers on the wood, embarrassed. "What?"

"N-nothing, you just-" he shook his head and cleared his throat, looking away before I had a chance to see if his eyes really were misty or if it was just the light. "Nothing."

"Ok." We sat in silence for a few seconds before I spoke again. "So, are you going to teach me to play that song? You seem to know it pretty well."

"I can do that." He moved his chair a bit closer and showed me the first chord on his guitar. "You put your fingers here, like this, and pluck the strings like this…" He demonstrated and then watched as I tried to copy him. "Good, but you need to bend your fingers like this. And don't push too hard, you'll hurt your hand. Play it again. Good. Now the next chord it like this…"

We continued like this for a while, him showing me the notes, me trying to copy and eventually writing them all down with little diagrams to help me remember where to put my fingers. By the time the bell went, I could play the first two line of the song and my fingers were raw. Despite the pain, I was satisfied with his method of teaching and could tell he didn't mind the activity at all. I knew then that this would become a regular thing, and I was right.

* * *

Almost every day we played together, learning bits of the song, playing them over and over and slowly working my fingers to the bone. It was fun, making music and having something of substance to do. The girls joined us sometimes, just to sit and listen to our jam sessions, but they generally did their own things at lunch, and I hadn't heard any more ridiculous teasing… yet. It would come. I still caught a few exchanged glances now and then- they just couldn't help themselves. Come a sleepover with too much junk food and a good game of truth or dare, I knew they wouldn't be able to shut up about it. So I treasured the peace I had while I had it.

In regards to the bullying, there were obviously no confrontation, but I heard about tricks and pranks being played on a lot of people that weren't able to be tracked to their sources. Most were innocent enough and no-one was ever hurt, but then there were the hate notes. They began piling up at alarming frequency in the first few days, and not only Quasi and other misfits were getting them but now I was too. They were mostly full of bad poetry and disgusting language, and after a while I stopped reading them altogether. I wouldn't let Quasi read them either. He didn't need any more of that kind of thing to drag him down. So I grabbed them as soon as I saw them and scrunched them up in front of everyone, refusing to be subject to people who thrived on others' pain. I wanted to show that no matter what others tried to do to us, we would not be intimidated or brought down.

One Tuesday I heard whispers that Esme would be looking for us after school- trust her to find out that day I had to hang around and take advantage of it. So that day we agreed to split up and take two different routes to our usual spot, and whoever she followed would lead her a merry dance around the grounds, where hopefully she would encounter a teacher and get in trouble. It was a touch-and-go plan, one that would most likely fail. But we decided to try it anyway.

It just so happened that she ended up following me. I saw her that afternoon, keeping her distance but most definitely following me, and I lead her on a great chase through the school, always managing to stay ahead but in sight. For a while I stayed away from places where I knew the teachers were, wanted to draw it out for as long as possible, (this was something I had always enjoyed; I loved the thrill of being chased and the danger of being caught, and I had spent most of fifth grade taunting and being chased by one particular girl who had always hated me. Strange pastime, I know, but it was fun.) but eventually I came to the hallway that lead to our meeting spot. Now I slowed down, for there was a particular teacher in one of the classrooms around here who hated loud noises with a passion, and I need my plan to work. I was puffing now, my chest tight and painful with lack of exercise, but the 'thump thump' of Esme's shoes behind me spurred me on. I sped past the teacher's door, yelling at the top of my lungs, then put on a burst of speed and reached the side door just as the cranky teacher came out to see what was going on. A hand grabbed mine and whisked me through and I slammed the door and fell against it, breathless and laughing as Quasi and I listened to the musical sound of Esme getting in trouble for running around in the corridors like a little kid. For a while, we reveled in the fact that our plan had worked and we had made it. Then we high-fived and sat down to practice some more.

I still wondered about his bruises. In my spare moments I kept thinking back to the day I helped him, hidden in the staff toilets as I took off his jacket and stared at his arms, all sore and bruised and usually hidden away. I hadn't said a word about it, just went on with what I was doing because I didn't want to make things worse, but it had been gnawing away at me ever since. Where did they come from? When had they happened? Who had done it? They were just more questions to add to the list of things I didn't know about him, this mystery that was Quasimodo.

One lunch, we were eating and doing our thing, me working on my essay on Ancient Egypt-the same one I wrote every few years when the subject came around, and which I didn't even need to go to class for anymore- and him tuning my guitar again, when he got up to put his rubbish in the bin and tripped on my computer cord on the way back. He went down hard on the side of the desk, the cord wrapped around his feet and half ripped out of the wall, and I jumped up, eyes wide, as he met the floor with a great 'thump'.

"Holy crap, are you ok?" I scrambled over and untangled the cord, then dropped down beside him. He was lying on his side, obviously in a lot of pain but not making any noise, but when I came over he sat up quickly and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I'm fine," he lied with gritted teeth, holding his side and trying to breathe normally. I frowned at the obvious fib, wondering what his problem was. It wasn't like I would think any less of him for admitting he was hurt.

"Liar. I know it feels to bang your hip on something. Feels like you've been shot. You don't have to be brave all the time, you know." I reached for the bottom of his jacket, intending to take a look to make sure it wasn't serious, but to my surprise, he grabbed my hand and shifted out of my reach, like he didn't want me to touch him. "I just wanna look, Quasi. To make sure you really are ok."

"I'm fine," he said again, not looking at me. "I-I am."

I sighed. Why did he have to be difficult? "Well I just wanna make sure. I know a bit about injuries, living in a large family with little kids who climb everywhere. I promise I won't hurt you."

Just like before, he took his time to think about it before deciding to let me do what I needed to do. It was like he was deciding whether to trust me or not. I suppose, from what he'd told me, he had never really had anyone he could trust before; he had never had a real friend. But all the same, why would he be so shy when it came to me look at his skin? What was I going to do, laugh at his hump?

At length, he nodded to me and shifted back, and I grasped the bottom of his jacket and shirt and started to pull it up. "I don't know what's you're scared of. I'm not going to make fun of you or anything. You should know by now that I don't really care what you-" I stopped and gasped as the skin became visible, horror filling me when I saw exactly what he hadn't wanted me to see- the dark bruising the covered the area. "What the-" I lifted the material further and folded it back to expose his whole back, including his hump. The bruises went all the way up, over the twisted spine and the ugly protrusion that sat behind his shoulder like an old, lumpy gnome. I gazed upon the angry patches of reddish-purple and older smudges of yellow and brown and felt tears of sympathy fill my eyes as I imagined how much pain this was causing him. And then they turned to tears of anger when I realised that _someone_ had to have done this. _Someone_ was hurting my friend.

I reached out touched the vivid skin, trailing my fingertips lightly over the colours and lumps and bumps that made up his back, and felt him shiver under my touch. "What happened to you?" I whispered hoarsely, shocked at the sight in front of me. It reminded me of a child's painting, all splashes and splotches of colour on a flesh canvas. Only this was in no way pretty or creative. Try 'upsetting' instead.

"It's n-n-not w-what… I-I-I m-mean… I-I-I have…" Quasi stammered, then took a deep breath and tried again. "I-I have a skin c-condition. I b-bruise easily."

"I'll say. But how-"

"I'm v-very clumsy. I'm always f-falling over."

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "On your back?"

"Y-yes. M-m-my arms, too. You've seen them."

"Yeah, but…" I shook my head, not quite able to believe that this could be the result of clumsiness. I might've been overreacting, but to me it just wasn't plausible. "Is... is someone hurting you? Bullies after school maybe, or something like that?"

His eyes widened, fearful. "No!"

"Are you sure?" I pressed. I knew I was asking some risky questions, but I needed to know. I also wanted to ask how life was like at home, but I was afraid to. I couldn't be that specific- I just had to let him confide in me. "You know you can tell me anything, so be honest. Is someone being violent with you?"

"No!" he repeated vehemently, shaking his head quickly. "N-nothing's happening, n-nothing's wrong. I'm just clumsy, th-that's all, I swear."

"Ok." I didn't completely believe him. Of course I didn't. But he wasn't going to tell me anything, so I just had to accept his explanation. And maybe he was 'just clumsy' and I was freaking out too much. No matter how bad it looked, it was entirely possible that I was just paranoid. We were friends, after all, and friends told each other the truth. He had told me about Esme, hadn't he? He knew he could tell me if something was happening. Maybe everything was alright after all.

I examined his back a moment longer, tracing the outline of his crooked spine and protruding hump in strange fascination before pulling his jacket back down and moving away. I wanted to make light of the situation, maybe joke around and say that I'd never complain about scoliosis again, but I all I said was: "It doesn't look serious. You'll be fine."

"Thanks." He returned to his chair, and as I picked up my guitar it occurred to me that he never would've let me see his back if he didn't trust me. That had to mean something. I had to try to believe him, at least.

We picked up our guitars started to play, making the most of the time we had left to practice again.

* * *

**_So, stuff happened. Lots of stuff. And even more stuff is coming in the future, so look out for that. Hope you liked :)_**


	15. Say Something

**_So I was talking with my friends Rochelle and Stevie a little while ago and I was telling them about these creepypasta stories that I'd accidentally found on pinterest._**

**_Stevie: (really confused) So is that a pope or something?_**

**_Me: ..._**

**_Dez: ..._**

**_Me: (starts laughing cuz I don't understand what she said but it sounds funny)_**

**_Dez: ..._**

**_Me: (starts laughing harder cuz I suddenly do understand what she said and it's hilarious)_**

**_Dez: (starts laughing cuz she gets it now)_**

**_Stevie: (embarrassed) Wait, I'm confused now. Is a pastor the same as a pope?_**

**_Me: (dying) Not that 'pasta'!_**

**_Stevie: Ooohhhh, you mean the food pasta! But that doesn't make sense..._**

**_Me: It's the name. They're a bunch of scary stories and characters and they're called creepypasta._**

**_Stevie: (starts laughing)_**

**_Me: What?_**

**_Stevie: I was just picturing a piece of macaroni or something with the pope's face on it. With a creepy expression._**

**_Me: (dying)_**

**_Dez: (dying)_**

**_Stevie (dying)_**

**_So there you go. Something funny before something serious. I told you guys last chapter to be prepared, didn't I? Cuz I think you'll have to be to read this. Some of you, anyway._**

**_So last chapter, Mich snuck around to Quasi's bedroom, they started playing guitar together and she saw something suspicious. This chapter, the holidays start, there's more sneaking around and something intense happens. That's all I'm saying._**

**_Read on :)_**

* * *

Say something, I'm giving up on you  
I'll be the one, if you want me to  
Anywhere I would've followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on you

And I am feeling so small  
It was over my head  
I know nothing at all

And I will stumble and fall  
I'm still learning to love  
Just starting to crawl

Say something, I'm giving up on you  
I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you  
Anywhere I would've followed you  
Say something, I'm giving up on you.

'Say Something'- A Great Big World.

* * *

The school term soon ended and the last week of September passed in a whirlwind of parties, movies, ice-skating, trips to the city and a huge shopping trip that nearly depleted my pocket money. My regular routine of schoolwork and music was replaced by fun and sleeping in and a list of projects that wouldn't get done until after the holidays. I was constantly worried that my parents were spending too much money on us, a trait left over from our less... let's just say, less exuberant days. But as dad pointed out, he was in charge of the budget, not me, and he knew exactly what we could afford and what we couldn't and he had it all under control, so for God's sake stop worrying and let him spoil us for once. So I had fun and tried not to freak out when dinner at Sizzlers set us back more than $100. The first week of October and the second week of Spring break was going to be even more exciting- my friends and I were going up to Gympie with a friend of the family and his 3 boys to visit Dez's uncle, who lived on a big property and was throwing a massive bonfire/party like he did every year. We would camp out on the property in our little 3 or 4 person tent, play pranks on the boys who would be next to us in the bigger tent, learn to ride a motorbike, meet new people, stuff ourselves with junk food, veg in front of the TV for a few days and just hang out for a week. For Dez it was an opportunity to catch up with relatives she rarely saw. For me it would be a great chance to reconnect with my friends who I had been neglecting.

The night before we left, we all slept over Dez's place, all of us packed and really to leave early the next morning. We had a 'Pirates of the Caribbean' marathon, decorated her brother's room, took numerous selfies that ended up being deleted, played around with makeup and overdosed on sugar, so by about midnight we were bouncing around and giggling like a bunch of six-year-olds. Mercifully, when we got around to playing Truth or Dare, beyond the usual 'do you like him' no-one said anything about Quasi. I answered no, just like I had when they asked me about Robert (Dez's brother) and Max (Em's brother) and every other guy we knew, and they left it at that. I had expected them to gang up on me to force out what they thought was the truth, but even though I blew them off every day to hang out with him, they seemed to have forgotten it.

But I hadn't. The holidays had been too full for me to miss him exactly, but at 2am, when the girls had just fallen asleep and were snoring peacefully, I lay awake in my sleeping bag and stared out the window at the barely-visible stars and wondered if he was awake too. _Probably not._ Then I wondered what he would do if I woke him up at this time of night (or morning). And then I spent the next ten minutes calculating the quickest route from Dez's place to his and trying to decide whether I actually wanted to leave my warm spot on the floor to venture into the cold, dangerous streets of Boronia Heights.

I still don't know what it was that made me grab my leather jacket and a packet of lollies, jam on my sneakers and climb out the window. Nor do I understand what I wasn't scared out of my mind to be walking around a neighbourhood that was known for its crime. Boronia was all housing-commission and low-income families, and bad things happened there all the time. But, with my mind distorted by sugar, lack of sleep and adrenalin, I never even stopped to consider whether I might be putting my life in danger or not.

I'm surprised I made it there without being mugged or raped or murdered, but the odds were in my favour than night and there was no-one about on the footpaths or the road. Good thing, too, for I probably looked a strange sight- messed up hair, leather jacket and dark blue pajama bottoms. A few times I thought I was lost, but I shuffled down Short Street, across the road, past the shops, and into the next street, and then I started recognising landmarks- that fence, that tree, that dead possum by the side of the road that still hadn't been disposed of and was now just bits of fur clinging to a skeleton of the creature it once was. And then I found the street I was looking for and the rest was easy.

I lie.

It would've been easy if it was daylight and I could see exactly what was in my way. It would've been easy if I had a torch with me or if the light from the streetlamps reached all the way to the back of the house and if my blind determination had lasted a bit longer. And it would've been _so_ much easier if I didn't have an overactive imagination that frequently ran away with me when confronted with something like this that could've been the setting for a horror movie. Or at least a _really_ scary story. I almost turned back when I saw the shadows cast on the house that flickered every so often as the streetlamp lured bugs in to their deaths. My stomach twisted as the house seemed to leer at me, its window like great dark eyes and the door like a cavernous mouth eager to devour me. The yard that I knew held nothing but grass and rubbish suddenly seemed like a collection of things ready to pounce. Terrified thoughts started swirling disjointedly around in my mind. What really lived in that grass? What wicked creatures lurked under the piles of rock, dirt, bottles and other trash? If I stepped into this unknown territory, would my feet be grabbed by unseen hands? Or would I fall down a hole and hit my head, unconscious and prey to whatever roamed here at night?

My heart was beating hard and painfully loud in my ears by this time, and my breathing quickened at every noise I heard. I had to stop imagining things or I would stay rooted to the spot all night, unable to move or think. I'd probably freeze to death if someone didn't grab me first- the damp, cold ground was already seeping into my battered sneakers and numbing my feet. I had to move. I had to stop freaking out and think clearly. Move, dammit!

Have you ever tried talking some sense into yourself? I don't know about you, but it never works with me. Time for a different plan.

I opened the packet of lollies, wincing at the great noise it made, and shakily pulled out a snake. I couldn't tell what colour it was in the dim light but at this point I couldn't care less. I needed to the sugar.

As soon as I bit into it, my head started to clear. It's hard to be scared when you're chewing on something sweet and the artificial sweetener coats the inside of your mouth like a comforting blanket. The things in the dark that were surrounding me backed off and suddenly my feet were obeying my brain again. They took me over the fence and slowly across the yard, where I picked up a stick and held it in front of me like a sword. Spiders beware- there was no messing with me tonight.

I shoved another lolly in my mouth as I started down the side of the house, heading towards the corner window. The light didn't reach this far, but in the almost-blackness I could see that it was open a crack, and when I came nearer, I stopped, eyes widening, for I had heard something. Just a quiet, constant, heartbreaking sound.

Crying.

Quasi was crying.

It wasn't loud. In the Doctor Who episode 'The Beast Below', the Doctor had said that children mostly cry to get attention or to let everyone know that they were hurt. But if a child was crying silently, it was because they just couldn't stop. Something terrible had happened, I was sure of it, and being the curious person I was, I wanted to find out what it was and try to help in any way I could.

So I knocked lightly on the window and peered inside, my breath fogging up the glass. "Quasi?"

The crying stopped at the sound of my voice, but there was no movement from inside. So I tried again. "Quasi? It's Mich…"

The rustle of sheets and movement behind the window; then Quasi's pale, tear-stained face appeared and the window was pushed up quickly. "What are you doing here?" he whispered fiercely, wiping the last of his tears away with an impatient hand. He looked almost angry that I was there, which surprised me for a moment and made me wonder uneasily whether I had actually done the right thing coming. Maybe I had interrupted something important, though that didn't seem very likely.

"I couldn't sleep," I answered with a shrug, subtly (or I thought so, anyway) examining him like a doctor examines a patient. I wanted to know what it was that was upsetting him, why he was always looking so mournful and why I had just found him crying in bed. I knew by now that though he knew I was his friend, he would not tell me what I wanted to know. But I asked anyway, just for the sake of it. "So, what's up with you?"

"What? Nothing, I'm fine." He looked away, and I wondered whether he knew that I was never going to give up, never going to stop trying to find out the truth.

"You were crying."

"N-no I wasn't."

"Yes you were, I heard you."

"I...I was d-dreaming."

I crossed my arms. "Ok, what were you dreaming about?"

"My mother," he answered quickly and almost defiantly.

I didn't believe him. For one thing, I was sure he hadn't been asleep- he had reacted too quickly. And his answer was so unconvincing it was ridiculous- I was about to chastise him for his terrible lying when I noticed the dark bruise that spread under his good eye and was immediately distracted. Without thinking I reached forward to touch it and was startled when he jerked away because I pressed too hard.

"Oops, sorry." I shook my head in disapproval. "Where'd you get that?"

"Ah... A- A ball." I almost snorted- even the first syllable sounded false.

For the first time I actually felt a bit hurt. We had become pretty good friends and he had told me the truth about his actions with Esme, and I had thought he'd tell me of all people if anything was going on, but it seemed that all he ever did lately was lie to me. Such obvious lies, too. Did he actually think I believe him?

"A ball, huh?" I took another lolly and offered the packet to him. "What kind of ball?"

"A... a cricket b-ball. We were playing and it flew into my face-"

"What, you mean from a bat?"

"Y-yeah-"

I crossed my arms. "Uh-uh. A cricket ball coming at you at that speed would do some serious damage. Choose something lighter." He froze, a lolly halfway to his mouth, and I laughed at his stricken expression, thought I really felt nothing like laughing. "What, surprised I saw through your flawless deception? 'Course I know you're lying. You're always lying." I thumped the windowsill, suddenly angry and forgetting to keep my voice down. "Why do you always lie to me? I thought we were friends!"

He glanced at the door in panic, fear in his eyes. "Shhhhh! I-I-"

"Don't you shush me!" I put my hands on my hips and glared. "Why don't you trust me? Friendship is a two-way thing ya know, and that includes talking. You've gotta start telling me the truth." I leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "What is going on?"

He drew back, rubbing the backs of his arms and shrugging helplessly. "I-I-I'm s-sorry-"

"You know what?" I threw the packet of lollies at him and shoved my hands in my pockets, tired and fed up. "Keep 'em. I'm going home. I have defended you time and time again, and I'm willing to help you. If you can't talk to me even though you know I can back you up in whatever's going on, there's no point in me staying.

"B-but it's not-" he started to protest weakly, but I help up a hand and cut him off.

"Goodnight, Quasi."

* * *

The walk home was uneventful and quick; I walked fast and my mind was blank except for my frustration at his reluctance to talk to me. But as I climbed in Dez's window, stripped off my jacket and shoes and nearly fell onto my sleeping bag in exhaustion, I hoped I hadn't ruined whatever tense friendship we had by getting mad at him. God only knew what he had already had to put up with in his life without me flipping out at him. I didn't hope for very long, thought, because in few minutes I was fast asleep.

Next morning, we left for Gympie.

* * *

Gympie was great. Although there was nothing interesting in town and the country usually bored me to tears, we were kept busy as we helped chop wood and set up the bonfire, made desserts, planned pranks to pull on the boys and started learning to ride the little motorbike. And although I ran over one of Sean's precious saplings and fell off the bike more than once and was subject to many episodes of 'Peppa Pig' by Dez's little cousin, I had the time of my life. Because for one thing, Sean (Dez's uncle) played guitar. So in the moments when we weren't socializing and being crazy idiots and wrestling the boys to the point of injury, I was getting guitar lessons; and by the end of the week I could play a number of easy songs and was looking for something a bit more challenging. I was so proud of myself and I couldn't wait to show Quasi all I had learned.

I didn't think about him a lot over the trip, but when I did, I felt guilty. I hadn't meant to get angry at him, and the more I thought about it the more I realised that if he didn't want to tell me what was going on in his life, then I had no right to try to force the issue. It wasn't any of my business, even if we were friends. I mean it wasn't like I was going to tell him every little thing about me and my life and 'air my dirty laundry' at him, so to speak. There were just certain things that I wouldn't feel comfortable sharing with anyone, not even the girls. So why would I try to make him talk and begrudge him the right to keep stuff to himself, even if I was insanely curious and a little bit worried? All I could do was hope it wasn't anything terrible and move on. It was probably just bullies after school, anyway. Lots of kids got bullied and put down and didn't want to share it. He was strong- if things got too bad I was sure he could take of himself. So I told myself thing whenever I let myself think too much about it and then dropped it, choosing instead to make the most of what was left of the holidays.

But all too soon it was time to go home. Friday morning I sprayed silly string all over the boys' tent, then helped pack up the camping stuff, packed my bags, ate the last off the leftover pavlova for breakfast, said goodbye to everyone and hopped into the van, ready to go home.

The ride home was noisy and took all day, the eight of us- me, Lester, his 3 boys, Dez, Bex and Em- packed in and exchanging photos and stories and complaining about having to go back to school and laughing over funny things on pinterest and uploading photos to instagram, and then Lester turned the radio up and we had a karaoke thing instead. It was so much fun and I was a little sad when it ended and we were dropped off at home.

That night we slept over Dez's again. I was surprised when, exhausted from our busy week of partying hard, everyone crashed at about 11. It was so unlike our usual sleepovers, where we didn't start heading for bed until 4 in the morning and then those who fell asleep first were drawn on with sharpies. Overtired, I found it hard to get comfortable and felt wide awake. I tried to sleep for a little while, but my mind was too active. I think you can guess what happened next. I was outta that window and halfway down the street before I know what I was doing, hyped up and spurred on by the success of my last late-night escapade. But what you wouldn't guess- at least not at first- was what else happened that night.

* * *

There was no car in the driveway when I got there. The spot was completely empty, and the only thing that showed there ever was a car was the flat grass and faint tire marks outside the house. Was he out? At this time of night?

As far as I knew, Quasi never went out. He just didn't. Perhaps it was his father. If that was the case, I didn't need to worry about being quiet and I could stay for longer. Good. I smiled and climbed the fence, then grabbed a stick and walked quickly around the side of the house. No fear of terrifying creatures this time!

There was a faint light coming from his room, which I nearly tripped over and fell on my face to get to once I saw it. But when I looked in the window, I couldn't see anyone. The lamp on the desk across the room was on and pointed at the bed, but there was no-one there.

"Quasi?" I called softly, pushing up the window with some difficulty and sticking my head in the room. "Hello?"

A tousled red head popped up from out of nowhere and scared me half to death, making me bang my head on the windowframe. "Mich?"

I winced, rubbing my head. "You know that's the second time you've frightened me to the point of injury?"

He glanced at the little clock on his bedside table then back at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, nice to see you too." I pushed the window up a bit more and crossed my arms on the sill. "Same as last time. We got home from Gympie today and everyone was knackered, so they're all asleep. I couldn't, so here I am." I sighed. "Actually, what I really wanted to say is I'm sorry for getting mad at you last week. I have no right to force you to say anything and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It's your business, not mine. Forgive me?"

"O-of course." He looked at the clock again and an expression of panic crossed his face. "You sh-should probably go now."

"Already? But there's no car in the driveway- you're dad's not here, is he?"

"N-no, but he'll b-be home soon."

"He won't find me. I did spend the last few years successfully trying to be invisible."

He shook his head forcefully. "You sh-should leave. It's...it's safer."

"I swear, he won't even know I'm here." I drew my jacket around myself and breathed out, watching the smoke it made in the air and trying to ignore the fact that the cold ground was seeping into my shoes and numbing my toes. "Beside, even if he did, what would he do? Ground you for having a girl over without permission? Take away your guitar? Actually, that would be pretty bad, but seriously, it's not like he's gonna doing anything major like arrest me-"

"Mich..." Quasi closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if summoning his courage; I frowned in concern when I saw that his hands were shaking. "I-I... well... he..."

We were interrupted by the sound of a car driving up the street and headlights flashing over the house, and the car pulled into the driveway; at this, Quasi went white as a sheet and ducked down onto the floor again- from the look of it he was shoving whatever he had been doing under the bed out of site.

"You need to leave now." His voice was shaky, fearful.

"Oh, Quasi, really-"

He looked at me pleadingly. "_Please_ just go."

"Ok, ok, fine," I grumbled, edging away from the window as I heard the sounds of the car door slamming and the front door being unlocked. "But he really will never know I'm here." An idea popped into my mind and I almost laughed at the obviousness of it. Quasi was sweet for not wanting me to be found by his obviously strict father, but I didn't need to leave. I could just wait until he went to bed and then go back and talk some more. So I stood there leaning against the wall, listening to the front door opening and the heavy and... uneven footsteps? I frowned. There was a thump, a crash, the smash of something ceramic or glass and a string of slurred curses. My jaw dropped. This guy was a policeman. A policeman had had too much to drink and actually driven home? If anyone should know better... I jumped as the door opened in Quasi's room.

"Hey Quasimodo, you ugly sot!" slurred the voice whom the curses belonged to. My eyes widened and my hands clenched in immediate fury at the words, but before I had gotten over the first shock the voice was right next to the window, and I had to cover my mouth to stop the squeak of surprise from giving me away. "What's this window open for; it's freezing out there." Said window was yanked down and slammed shut, and I edged back towards it and peeked through the glass.

I was just in time to see him grab a handful of my friend's hair and yank him off the bed and onto the ground. Quasi immediately flipped over and started backing towards the wall, terror written plainly on his twisted features. The man who was supposed to be his father followed, smirking as he spoke something that I couldn't hear and which made Quasi cringe. He asked a question; Quasi looked down, submissive, and answered it quietly. They conversed for a few minutes, his father waving his arms around drunkenly and him downcast and shrinking into himself with every answer he made; then he obviously said something the other didn't like, because Officer Frollo suddenly and unexpectedly slapped him and kicked him onto his side. I watched, tears frozen in my eyes and both hands covering my mouth with horror as Quasimodo curled himself into a ball and made no move to defend himself from the drunk's boot that swung and struck his back and side again and again and again...

I think, as I watched this horrible scene unfolding in front of my eyes, the thing that got to me the most wasn't the violence but Quasi's reaction to it. Despite the ridiculous amount of pain he must have been going through, he made not a sound; he never said a word, never cried out, never made even a whimper. The thought that had entered my mind back during the beating Phoebus had given him came back to me now- this must have happened so many times before that he was almost used to it. But for how long? How many times had he been beaten, abused, hurt so badly that now he always expected it and didn't even try to escape? I was afraid of what the answer might be.

I don't know how long it went for, how long I stood there unable to move or breath while my friend was beaten black and blue by his own father, but eventually the drunk began to stumble between kicks and decided to quit for the night. He aimed one last clumsy, parting kick at Quasi's head and lurched out of the room, slamming the door behind him. When he was gone, Quasimodo slowly, painfully picked himself up and stumbled the last few steps to his bed, where he collapsed in a broken pile and didn't move for a while; and when I was freaking out that _holy crap he might be dead oh please don't be dead come on move dammit move_ after what seemed like ages his shoulders started to shake and he was crying just like he was a week ago when the exact same thing must have happened just before I got there and I never had an idea of the scale of what had occurred.

The window was pushed up and I was halfway inside by the time I had even thought of it, and I landed on the bed next to him with all the grace of a baby giraffe. But when I gently touched the top of his head in an effort to be of some comfort, I was not expecting him to sit up suddenly and look at me, the tears in his eyes turning to fury, and whisper angrily "What are you still doing here?" as if I had just committed the worst crime imaginable.

"I-I-I'm sorry," I stammered, tears blurring my eyes as I saw the way he held himself, gingerly and almost paralyzed with pain. "I thought I could wait until he left... I didn't know he w-was gonna..." Despite my efforts, the tears fell and I choked out a sob. "Oh Quasi, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

He shook his head, his breathing labored. "Go away, Mich. Please just go away."

"But why-"

"Go."

"But Quasi-"

"Go!"

"I can't just-"

He looked up and glared at me again, cutting me off for the third time. "Go. Away. I don't want you here. Just go away and don't you dare tell anyone what you've seen. Get out of here."

He was serious. I shook my head, lips quivering, and backed away from him towards the window. I scrambled through and landed unevenly on the ground outside, then looked back inside at the boy on the bed who refused to cry again until I was gone, wondering if we were ever going to be able to go back to what we used to be.

I watched him for a moment, but when he eased himself over and slammed the window in my face, I left, my feet searching blindly in the darkness for the way home as I cried and cried for everything that had happened in the last few months and realized that I was back to where I had started. He didn't want me to tell anyone or say anything, and for now at least, I had to honor that, no matter how strong the urge was to ring the police and blurt out the whole story.

Once again, there was nothing I could do.

* * *

**_I really didn't want to leave it here, but whatever else I wanted to write would take too long and I guess it can wait. Let me just say that there is a reason that she can't tell anyone about what happened and you'll find out next chapter._**

**_Review and tell me what you think. I'm expecting lots of capitals and exclamation marks from at least one of you, haha :) Also, tell me what you think is going to happen next, I like to hear your ideas and input._**

**_See you next time :)_**


	16. Fix You

**_Hey guys, I've got a long one for you today. More than 7000 words. Hopefully I've done ok; I've gotten into Sherlock, so I've been distracted trying to plan a new fanfic and I'm sick and my parents decided to change our bedrooms around, so I've been unpacking, too. But I don't want to make excuses, so lets get this show on the road._**

**_Last chapter, Mich wandered the streets of a dangerous neighborhood and found out a bit of shocking info about Quasi's homelife. This chapter, there's singing, angst, Phoebus makes a shocking declaration, we learn a bit more about Esme and there's some nice Kish fluff for you._**

**_Enjoy :)_**

* * *

When you try your best but you don't succeed  
When you get what you want but not what you need  
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep  
Stuck in reverse

When the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
I will try to fix you.

'Fix You'- Coldplay.

* * *

School went back on Monday; and as always, I saw neither hide nor hair of Quasimodo until music class. I think it's fair to say that by then I was nearly a nervous wreck. All weekend I had had the image of him lying there, beaten and bruised from numerous kicks, collapsed on the bed like a pile of bones, playing constantly in front of my eyes. All weekend I had been holding in tears and snapping at everyone out of frustration. My family just thought I was PMSing and didn't question my moody behavior, and though I wanted to tell them everything (oh, how I wanted to!) I was forced to stay silent. _Don't you dare tell anyone what you've seen_, he had said. _Don't you dare._

So I didn't.

By the time music rolled around, my mind was a complex mix of emotions, and though I kept my expression neutral and blank, inside I was ready to burst. I sat in my spot at the back, listening to everyone talk about their holidays and waiting anxiously for my partner to arrive. At length, when my nerves were starting to make themselves visible in my fidgeting fingers and I was worried that something terrible had happened over the weekend, he slunk in just ahead of Miss Basso and slid noiselessly into his chair next to me, where he sat and stared at the desk as the teacher brought the class to order and jumped straight into the lesson. I got out my book as asked, but my mind was solely on the boy next to me. I wanted to do something, say something, anything, to show that I was there for him; I was even hit for a second with the sudden urge to hug him, and had reached out a hand to touch his back before I stopped and withdrew, feeling stupid. We were in class and it just wasn't appropriate; and besides, he probably wouldn't welcome the attention. But still had to say something.

"Hey," I whispered, leaning towards him a bit and barely moving my lips, "You right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he whispered back, still focused on the desk.

I almost laughed at that- there were so many reasons for him to not be alright- but instead I whispered, "Are we still on for lunchtime?" Then I mentally kicked myself because _that sounded so selfish and surely he wouldn't want to do music while he was in pain-_

"Yes," he answered.

I smiled despite myself, for I really did enjoy our jam sessions and it would've been a pity to have to end them so soon. Still, I didn't want to sound like I was harsh and demanding. "Are you sure? I mean, we don't have to if you don't feel-"

"Yes," he said again, and I guessed that was the end of it. We were going to practice whether he was up to it or not.

Miss Basso passed us just then, handing out our marked assignments from last term, and she actually smiled when she came to us. "A-minus, good job, guys. You have a very good knowledge of music theory and culture, and excellent understanding of your chosen genres and music groups. And, to top it off, you work very well together, unlike _some_ people around here…" She trailed off, looking pointedly at a few other pairs who had begun to play up. I glanced around the room, embarrassed by the praise, and heard others begin to giggle and whisper. I couldn't help shrinking in my seat a little as I heard my name and Quasi's mentioned; I had thought that being the topic of people's conversations wouldn't bother me anymore, but evidently it did.

The teacher obviously got the gist of the conversations happening around her, because she briefly glanced from Quasi and me to those with the loudest voices and put her hand on her hip, staring at them until the rest of the room grew quiet and they were the only ones talking.

"Miss Waters, Miss Brennan, would you like detention?" Her voice was no longer the warm tone it had been when speaking to us; it was now as loud as ever with a stern ring of warning thrown in.

"No, Miss Basso," they chorused.

"Well shut it then." She laid the papers on our desks and continued on; looking back, she raised an eyebrow, and I swore I saw her eyes twinkle at both of us. My heart sank even as I smiled at her stern choice of words. Did she believe the rumors too? It looked like it, and it even looked like she approved. Not surprising, since teachers were, in fact, the biggest shippers on the planet. My eyes widened at the thought of it. Ignoring those who liked to poke fun, how many more people shipped us? I began to fidget again and glanced at Quasi, who still refused to look at me. I wasn't quite sure what to think of others trying to decide my destiny for me, but I did know that I would've laughed in the past. Now... I shook my head and read through the comments on the assignment, acutely aware that I was just trying to distract myself again.

* * *

He could've cancelled. I mean, if he wasn't feeling up to it he could've said so. I wouldn't have been mad. But I guess he thought he owed me or felt obliged to keep going despite whatever pain he was in. Maybe it was a distraction. Either way, I was glad that we were continuing our lessons. For one thing, it would give me an opportunity to talk to him properly and find out why the hell I couldn't tell anyone what was happening at home. I also couldn't wait to show him what I'd learned over the holidays, and when we brought our lunch to the art room that day I decided to start with that instead of a confrontation. So wolfed down half my sandwich and grabbed my guitar while he was still setting up his place, and as he ate I began to play. First I played 'Everybody Hurts', which I had somehow learnt by heart in that short week, and smiled when he closed his eyes reverently and swayed a little to the song that obviously meant a lot to him. And then I started playing little tunes, like 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' and 'Ode to Joy' and 'Amazing Grace', not using actual chords but just plucking the strings in the right order like I had been taught and which I had found was a lot easier than playing proper songs. Then I started to fumble through 'You Belong With Me', which had been in a list of easy songs and which I had been in the middle of learning when the trip ended. I was still was jerky and slow, and I kept losing my place and having to start over, but I noticed that since we began our sessions I had become a little smoother with changing hand positions and my musical ear had improved. I also noticed that while I sang along to the tune, the usual flood of memories that came with that song was... gone. 'YBWM' was usually accompanied by flashbacks and tears that I would have to blink away before anyone noticed. But as I played the song that had once been my favourite I realized that the only thing I was thinking of was how to play the chords and what octave to sing at and whether I sounded any good. For the first time in about a year, my 9th and 10th grade theme song was just a song, and it looked like I was finally, _finally_ over him.

The internal revelation was so unexpected that I stopped in the middle of the song and laughed with relief and happiness, not caring how it looked to Quasi. I was free. I was completely free. And it was liberating. I was never going to let myself be controlled by bad memories again.

Quasi had finished lunch by now and was getting out his own guitar. I pulled out a chair for him and moved mine back so that he had some room, and replied to his inquiring look, "Oh, it was nothing. I just remembered something I forgot, that's all." When he was ready to play, I asked him if there were any other songs he could teach me. "Can you play any songs from Styx? I know 'Lady' and 'Desert Moon' can be played on guitar, but they're a bit complicated... My favourite is 'Babe', but that sounds a bit hard too..."

"I can play that."

"What, 'Babe'?"

"Yes."

"Oh good!" I sat back in my chair and looked at him expectantly. "Take it away."

He nodded and took a moment to find the chords, and then he started to play. I smiled at the familiar tune and started to mouth the words when the verse came up, but stopped why I realized he wasn't singing. "Can you sing along? Please? I mean, if you can- you don't have to, but-"

He nodded again and started the verse over, and this time he sang along to the music.

"Babe I'm leaving  
I must be on my way  
The time is drawing near  
My train is going  
I see it in your eyes  
The love, the need, your tears..."

I was captivated from the first line. I sat there, mouth open, staring at him, as a sound I never knew existed caressed my ears and gave me goosebumps. If I had been feeling dramatic I would've called it the voice of an angel, but as it was, I was speechless. How could I have guess that under his unfortunate-looking exterior (and I wouldn't have told anyone, but strangely, it was an exterior that I was starting to like) and hoarse, quiet speaking voice was a singing voice that could break your heart?

"But I'll be lonely without you  
And I'll need your love to see me through  
So please believe me  
My heart is in your hands  
And I'll be missing you

'Cause you know it's you babe  
Whenever I get weary  
And I've had enough  
Feel like giving up  
You know it's you babe  
Giving me the courage  
And the strength I need  
Please believe that it's true  
Babe, I love you."

I was still staring when he finished, and he looking uncomfortable in the silence, looking down, then around, and then, for the first time that day, he looked me in the eye. I could practically feel the nervousness radiating off him. "H-how was that?"

"Huh..." My heart was beating faster than I would've liked and it was mixing with the butterflies in my stomach, making me feel like I had the whole zoo inside of me. I tried to calm myself, feeling kind of silly for getting so worked up over a pretty voice, but it was proving kind of difficult with those iridescent green eyes fixed on me. "Th-th-that was... that was... amazing. That was amazing!"

"Really?" He seemed to have a hard time believing me.

"You mean you don't _know_ that you have a voice that can melt stone?"

His eyes widened. "Melt s-s-stone?"

"Y-yeah." I looked down, suddenly embarrassed. _That might've been too much..._ "I mean, you're really good. You have a nice voice."

"No I don't," he said quietly, looking away. "You're being too nice. I'm not good at anything, really. I have no talent."

"Wha-?" My brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course you do!"

"No, I don't."

"Who told you that?" I leaned forward, angry now. "Who told you that you have no talent? Was it that good-for-nothing son-of-a-bitch who was beating you to a pulp on Friday night?"

"Mich-"

"When were you going to tell me about that, huh? And why can't I tell anyone? Domestic and Child Abuse helplines are just a few numbers away. Hell, it would all be over with one call to the police! I'll do it for you if you don't want to; it won't be too hard."

"No."

"Why not? Why won't you let me help you out?"

"I don't need your help!" I blinked at him, taken aback. He glared at me and stood up, reaching for his guitar case. "You k-keep trying to help me, but I don't want it. I don't want to be your p-project. So you can stop p-pretending to be my friend, alright?"

"P-p-pretending...?" I spluttered, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You think I'm pretending-?"

"That's all everyone ever does, isn't it?" He zipped up his case and headed for the door. "Esme made me th-think she liked me, and I was s-stupid enough to b-believe every w-word she said-"

"Whoa, whoa, wait-" I squinted at him. "You think I'm doing what Esme did? Is that what you think?"

He looked at the floor, hand on the doorknob. "I don't know, but I don't want that to happen again. I'm used to being alone, I can take care of myself. I don't need your pity or your help. So just leave me alone, ok?"

I don't remember how long I sat there, mouth open in shock, but by the time I had gathered my thoughts together and jumped up to follow him, he was gone. I groaned and stomped my foot, angry with myself as well as him. I knew for certain that I wasn't Esme, but was I really taking advantage of his musical skills? Of that I suddenly wasn't too sure.

* * *

There was still heaps of time left before lunch ended, so I locked up and went outside. At length, after wandering aimlessly around the school grounds and berating myself for letting him run off like that (who knew what would happen if someone caught him alone?) I found myself at the basketball court. Now I had space to think.

What had changed? I thought back to the term before, when we sat together after I had introduced him to the girls and told him that I only chose the best. He had almost cried, he was so moved. What had changed his mind? Was he embarrassed that I had seen what I wasn't meant to have seen? Was that it? Was he afraid of what I might think of him now? Ugh, I was so confused.

The sound of footsteps found its way into my head, along with the bouncing of a ball. I turned as it flew through the air and rebounded off the backboard towards me, catching it just before it hit me in the face. "Hey, watch it!"

The owner of the ball smirked and tossed his blonde hair out of his eyes. "Sorry."

"No you're not." I tossed it back and shoved my hands in my pockets, studying Phoebus as he bounced it once, twice, three times and shot for the hoop, missing miserably. "Wow, you're really out of practice. What happened to those amazing reflexes and dead-straight aim? You used to be able to get it in from the middle of the court!"

"Oh, so you remember that?" He dug around in his pocket and offered a small packet to me, putting something in his mouth as he did so. "Do you remember these too?"

I just turned up my nose at him and his Fisherman's Friends. "Yeah, and how you tricked me into eating one and expected me to freak out? Fail. I just waited until you weren't looking and spat it out."

"I did see that, actually."

"Yeah right."

"I did!"

I sighed. "What do you want, James?"

"Nothing." He picked up the ball and took another shot; he missed, again, and threw it to me. "Just wondering what you're doing in the middle of the court without a ball, staring into space."

"Shouldn't you be with Esme?"

"Should you be with Quasimodo?"

"God, what is it with people and shipping us together?" I shot for the hoop and, surprisingly, got it in. "Me and Quasi aren't a thing, Phoebus. Seriously, we aren't. We just hang out and play music, that's all."

"Ok, fine, but my question still stands. You spend, like, every lunchtime with him, right?"

"He's mad at me right now and ran off and I can't find him. What about you?"

Phoebus rolled his eyes. "Esme is being a bitch and I couldn't stand it anymore. Do you know how many threats and plans I've heard from her? She's determined to get you back for 'ruining her life' and 'spoiling her last year'. She so over-dramatic and emotional and... just stupid. This whole thing is stupid."

I held up a hand to interrupt him. "Last year?"

"Yeah, she's moving to Victoria at the end of the year when she gets her P's."

"Which will give the school a much needed rest from all this drama, hopefully."

"Oh, she cannot _wait_ to get away from that 'backwards Asian farm'- her words- and start living in the real world. I told her she's crazy and that the real world isn't much to look at, but she won't-"

"Asian farm?" I interrupted again, curious to hear anything about Esme. She wasn't afraid to air other people's private lives and backgrounds, but I had never heard much about her own home life. "You mean she lives on one of those huge mass-produce places? A yellow-eye farm? The ones with rows and rows of greenhouses and junk everywhere?

"That just about sums it up, yeah. He dad's a Cambodian immigrant and he runs a pretty big food business- they grow tomatoes... or... something... whatever. Anyway, she's pretty much disowned him cuz of all the crap the farmers are getting and she can't wait to move out. It's the only thing she talks more about than you."

"Interesting." I shook my head. "She never says anything about herself- I always thought she was Italian or something, but I knew she wasn't completely European. At least, I knew a few weeks ago."

"Spanish," Phoebus corrected me. "Esme's half Spanish and half Cambodian. She didn't want anyone to know her real roots, but she told me about it once. I think she's ashamed of her dad 'cause he's a lowly farmer and she doesn't want to be associated with that image."

"What a snob." I put a hand on my hip and tilted my head at him. "So, if she doesn't want anyone to know, why are you telling me?"

"Well it's not like you're gonna spread it around and use it against her. Pretty much everyone around here is low income or council estate or something like that, so it's no shock."

"True enough. And how are you gonna take the separation? Long phone calls into the night, emails, driving down for holidays and all that long-distance relationship stuff?"

"Actually..." He rubbed his neck and winced, looking at the ground, and I think I knew exactly what he was thinking. And it did not make me very happy.

"Oh, don't tell me- you want to break up with her?"

He looked around as if worried someone would hear us. "I've been thinking about it, yeah, if you must know." At my look he shrugged defensively. "Well I'm getting tired of all the drama and emotions and crap that's going on. You don't have to listen to her every day, raving on and on about pranks and revenge and high-school status. I'm starting to think she's losing it."

"Are you really going to do that to her when she's already feeling compromised?" I demanded, strangely angry. It was funny- I would never have been able to talk to him like this a few months ago, but since everything had happened I felt stronger and able to do anything. And right now, hearing that Phoebus James was thinking of breaking up with someone again, I thought that I owed it to myself to make him realize what he was doing the way I hadn't been able to before. "I mean, I can't stand the girl myself, but she must think the world of you to not be able to see you for the idiot you are. Do you have any idea at all of how she would feel if you upped and left right now?"

"What's that got to do with you?"

"Nothing, really, but..." I bit my lip and looked away. "It's just that I feel sorry for her, having gone through the same thing myself."

"Oh..." Phoebus looked at the ground and blew the air out of his cheeks. "About that..." He scratched his head awkwardly. "What I said that time, about missing you? I _was_ just trying to keep your attention, but it was partly true. I _am_ sorry that I hurt you, but I didn't know that you'd be so upset. You never said anything or cried or acted like you cared, so I just thought you didn't."

"Oh, I cared. But keeping feelings bottled up is a skill a lot of girls have. It's kind of a defense mechanism."

"Well, again, I'm sorry. I didn't know any better and I treated you badly. Can you possibly forgive me?"

"I'm a good enough person to forgive you, but not stupid enough to trust you." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why would you want my forgiveness? Why would you care if I like you or not?" He was silent, but as he looked up to meet my eyes and raised his eyebrows, I just knew. "No. Oh, no no no no no no you don't, I'm not that stupid-"

"No, you're not stupid at all! You're funny and sarcastic and aggressive and I like that, but you're also kind and thoughtful and compassionate. Just look how you've taken pity on Quasimodo and-"

"I have not 'taken pity' on Quasimodo. He's my friend, ok?"

"Made friends with him, then." Phoebus sighed wearily. "Look, I'm telling you the truth. Esme just isn't the girl I thought she was, and I'm starting to see that you've always been the one I needed, and I was too dumb see that before. Why don't we give it another try?"

I stared at him, convinced he was telling the truth. He actually wanted to break up with Esme and get with me. This was actually happening. For a moment I was hit with a memory of us sitting together at a basketball game, sharing food and just having fun, and it made me wonder if we could actually be like that again. And then I realized what it would mean, what would be the end result, and how it would affect others, and I shook my head. "It would be a fine proposition- if I was a stupid girl."

"What?" Phoebus looked upset, and rightly so. "I'm baring my soul to you, Mich-"

"I understand that, and you know, I might've gone with it, if I hadn't once been just like her." I didn't know how to make him see- he was the stupid one, never thinking about others unless it was good for him. "Look, one of the stupidest mistakes in life is thinking that the person who hurt you won't hurt you again. I read somewhere to never let an old flame burn you twice. And I may not like Esme, but I feel a responsibility to do the right thing and not steal her guy. That's like the highest part of the girl code. I can't do something like that. Do you even care how much it would break her heart?"

"She's your enemy- why would you care?"

"Oh, you wanna know why I care about how she feels? You wanna know why I give a crap that you're going to break her heart?" I threw the ball at him as hard as I could and took a step towards him, fists clenched, anger surging through me. "Because I know how it feels, Phoebus. I know how it feels to have the person you thought liked you turn his back on you and walk out of your life without any explanation. I know how it feels to scroll through emails and messages and read them over and over because they're the only thing left and you pretend that it's ok and when you go to school the next day it'll all be the same as usual. I know," Here I stopped, trying to get control of my breathing and perhaps also the tears that I would've denied were there, "I know... how it feels to stand alone when someone used to stand with you, to cry so hard at night that you can't breathe, to pray for someone to come back and tell you it was a mistake, to watch someone walk away and never look back. I know." I glanced up and found him staring at me, eyes wide, surprise and realization written all over his features, and I gave him a watery smile. "That's why I care. That's why I want you to try and work through it. And that's why I'm not going to go back to you. We're only young once, and it's ok to want to have fun, but for once you need to think about how what you do will affect other people."

"Wow." Phoebus took a step back, eyes shifting uncomfortably. "You're really still upset about that?"

"Actually... no." I thought back to my moment of clarity in the art-room. "I used to be. For a long time I was angry and upset and absolutely miserable, as you are when you get your heart broken, and it went on for so long that I couldn't remember anything else except the feeling that I got whenever I saw you or heard your name." I closed my eyes and shook my head sadly. "All those months I spent hating you, I could've been getting on with my life. But I didn't, and I wasted all that time pining over what I thought we had, and I'm ashamed of myself for doing it. But finally, finally..." I laughed and looked up at him, feeling peace. "I played a song today that used to remind me of you and nothing happened. No tears, no nostalgia, no mopey stuff. It's just a song now. I'm over it. I'm free. Free to be my own person and take control of my life. I could fall in love again or stay single for a while, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm finally, _finally_ happy. So no, I'm not upset anymore."

Phoebus nodded, not knowing what to say, and bounced the ball a few times for lack of something useful to do. He shot for the hoop, missed, and passed it to me, and we played silently for a while until he decided to ask a question.

"You said Quasimodo is mad you?"

"Yeah, um, I saw something he didn't want me to see and then I tried to talk about it. He didn't want to and told me that he didn't need my help, and then he accused me of pretending to be his friend like Esme did. I don't know what's the matter with him- we were fine last term." I sighed. "He's wrong, he's _completely_ wrong. You know, I spend pretty much every day with him, learning how to play guitar, being a shoulder to cry on if he needs it, protecting him. I gave up being invisible and became a potential target for him. I stepped out of my comfort zone for him and became the only friend he's got. And he thinks that I was pretending?"

Phoebus frowned. "Why, though? Why did you bother doing any of that? Why did you decide to become his friend and risk all that bullying happening to you?"

"I don't know. It just happened. I was so certain of what I wanted, and then he came along and changed everything." I paused, trying to find the right words. "I just... I couldn't bear to be a spectator again. There comes a time, I guess, when silence is betrayal, and I just felt that I couldn't bear to watch anymore. I had to do something."

"Ok, so you did something. You helped him out a few times." Phoebus raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't need to spend every single day with him. What was that about?"

"I wanted to make sure he's safe, and lately he's been teaching me how to play guitar. And also..." I bit my lip, wondering if I should be confiding in my ex-boyfriend about this. "I don't want him to be alone anymore, you know? He's been bullied pretty much his whole life and he's never had a friend, and that's not right. He says he doesn't need help and doesn't need people but that's crap. I know he does, and I want to be there for him."

"But how can you bear it? I don't mean any disrespect to him, but he is _really ugly._ How does it not bother you?"

"Why should it? And besides, he's not ugly." I shrugged. "Not to me, not anymore. I've gotten used to it. It's just... different, that's all. And not a bad different. It like... you know when you meet someone so beautiful and then you actually talk to them and 5 minutes later they're as dull as a brick? Then there's other people, when you meet them you think, 'Not bad, they're ok.' And then you get to know them and... and their face just sort of becomes them. Like their personality is written all over it. And they turn into something so... beautiful."

"Beautiful?" He snorted, eyes full of amusement. "Him? Are you serious?"

"Have you seen his eyes?" I shook my head quickly. "Never mind. It's not just beautiful, either. He's introverted, like me, which I like. And he's a mystery. There's so much I still don't know about him, though what I do know makes sense now..." I was quiet for a moment, wondering if I should tell him what I had seen, but I decided against it.

He must've seen the cloud come over me, because he nudged me and raised his eyebrows. "What is it? What did you find out?"

"Sorry, can't say. I promised him I wouldn't tell." Actually, I didn't make any promises, but he wanted it to stay a secret so I had be quiet for now. "Sufficed to say, he's had a rough life and now he's kind of, I don't know, broken maybe? He needs someone."

"I suppose so..." He shrugged and glanced at me. "Just... be careful when trying to fix a broken person, cuz you might end up cutting yourself on their shattered pieces."

I smiled a little. "Wow, when did you get so deep?"

"When did you decide to fall in love with a high-school outcast?" he asked back, smiling that infuriating smile.

"I'm not in love with him!" I mostly believed it, even though the mention of it tied my stomach up in knots.

"Oh?"

I groaned in frustration. "I'm not! Why does everyone think that?"

Phoebus held up a hand and started to count. "Well, you spend every day with him, you beat up anyone who goes near him, you desperately want to improve his life, you adore his eyes-"

"I do not adore his eyes!"

He just looked at me and resumed his list. "-you adore his eyes, you play music together, and you've mysteriously got over your previous heart-break during your time with him; a heart-break which, by your own admission, affected you badly right up to the time you met him. I'm no love-expert, but from what I've heard, a girl usually only gets over a previous love so quickly when a new one comes along."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" I insisted. "All of that can be explained a different way, like maybe I'm a good person who wants to make someone's life better!"

"Or maybe you _are_ in love with him but don't want to admit it to yourself."

"Is this what you do now? You can't have me so you try to play matchmaker? Do I really look that desperate?"

"Of course not. You're just ignoring your feelings, that's all."

"Whatever." I checked my watch. "Bell's going to go soon. I should probably go."

"You should probably go find Quasimodo." He held up his hands at my look of annoyance. "No, just listen. You gave me advice, now I'm giving you some. Whatever feelings you have for him, it doesn't matter. You should go find him and say everything you want to say before he decides he really doesn't need you anymore."

"Ok... I will. Thanks." I smiled and chucked the ball at him. "It was good talking to you. Sorry about... you know."

He shrugged. "I'll try to take your advice if you take mine."

I nodded and headed back towards the school, feeling refreshed and light. I had gotten everything off my chest and straightened stuff out between us, and though there had been the shock of Phoebus' declaration and his insistence that I had feelings for Quasi, neither of us were worse for was just one more thing that I needed to.

Now it was time to find my friend.

* * *

I knew there was no point in trying to find Quasi before the bell rang, so I did the next best thing- I waited for him. I don't think I had realized the lengths he went to to avoid people unless absolutely necessary, because it was a long time before he actually went to his locker. I had to wait until there was almost no people in the halls and most of the classes had started by the time he appeared.

"Bit late, aren't you?" I remarked when I saw he wasn't going to say anything. Closing my locker door, I leaned against the lockers and watched him as he dialed his combination. "Look, can we talk?"

"You'll be late for class." he answered quietly, not meeting my eye.

"Doesn't matter, it's only History. I've done Ancient Greece twice already, so I don't really need to go to class."

"I'll miss English-"

"You're only doing creative writing. I can help you with that if you get behind." I nudged him lightly. "This is more important. Way more important."

"I don't want to talk about-"

I held up a hand. "Shut up and listen to me. I can't pretend to know how you feel, cuz I don't. But I have a good imagination, and I can imagine how difficult this is for you and how... scared you must be. Frankly, I'm scared too, but I know how serious this is and I really do want to help you, if you'll let me."

He stopped rummaging in his locker and and looked down, his voice slightly strangled. "I don't want... I don't need... your help. I'm fine. Just leave it, please."

"What, so I'm supposed to ignore the fact that my friend is being..." I looked around and lowered my voice to a whisper, aware that he didn't want it being spread around. "...being abused at home? Because believe it or not, you _are_ my friend. I'm not in any way pretending and I never was. Almost as soon as I saw you I could see that you're lonely and sad and I want to change that, if only you'll let me."

"I'm n-n-not lonely, I-I'm q-q-quite happy alone. No-one can d-do anything anyway, so it d-doesn't matter."

"Oh, Quasi," I hesitantly touched the sleeve of his jacket, trying not to remember what was underneath it, and tried to catch his eye. "We build walls around our hearts and lock all our doors and then wonder why no-one can save us. You don't give anyone a chance."

"I have given people chances and each... time..." He shook his head, sounding suspiciously like he was about to cry. "Each time... it ended badly. I can't... I-I-I c-can't..."

"You can't risk it again, so you pretend that you're fine and you don't need anyone when in reality, you really do. But you don't protect your heart by acting like you don't have one."

"How... would you know?"

I closed his locker for him and turned his shoulders so that he was facing me, bending down a little so I could look at him properly. "Because I look at you, and I can see it in your face. You think you hide it, but I see you. I see the hurt, the... the dark circles under your eyes from when you cry yourself to sleep, and the silent plea in your eyes, dancing on your lips, too afraid to be voiced, too afraid to be heard because you're too afraid to be hurt." I rested both arms on his shoulders, our faces only a few inches apart so that I could see the tears in his eyes and the quivering of his bottom lip; he tried to look away, ashamed of crying in front of me, but I followed his gaze and spoke softly, not caring how we would look if someone walked past. "And I just want to take you and wrap you up in my arms, hold you, console you, tell you things that you'll believe, but you don't seem to believe anything anymore, because you've been lied to and tricked far too many times. I know you're broken inside, I can see it in your face and in your manner and in the way you walk, and someone told me recently to be careful when trying to help broken people, but I don't care if I cut myself on your 'shattered pieces' because I care about you and nothing would make me happier than to see you happy too." Now the tears were welling up in my own eyes. "So, don't push me away anymore. _Please_."

"I-I-I won't, I'm s-sorry-"

I smiled and pulled him to me, and I hugged him as hard as I could, until the pent-up stress inside him had been relaxed and he slowly put his arms around me too. "It's ok," I whispered, sniffing a little. "It's ok. You can cry, if you want. Don't be ashamed."

His shoulders began to shake, so I held him tighter, letting him cry it out. I almost started too, but I held it back, because someone needed to be strong and god knows he had been strong for far too long. Not a sound did he make, his head buried in my shoulder and his tears wetting the fabric of my black cardigan. I didn't care about the cardigan, I didn't care about people walking by and finding us in this strange, perhaps compromising position, depending on how they looked at it. None of it mattered when my friend was unburdening himself on me.

Eventually he stopped, and I listened to the sound of his breathing as he calmed himself down. "I'm sorry," were his first words. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that-"

"It's ok, it's fine, it's good." I rubbed his back and smiled a little. "You don't have to apologise. It's completely alright."

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," I whispered back. And that was it.

I held him tight until the tears welling up disappeared. Until I could pull away and look him in the eyes and pretend that everything actually was ok. It wasn't, but we could pretend.

For now.

* * *

**_Yowsers, long chapter is long. _**

**_So, what did you think? I wasn't sure about the Phoebus and Mich thing, but I had some break-up quotes I wanted to use and someone had to reveal a bit about Esme's life. And the Kish fluff took forever to write. Hope I did it right. Tell me in that box down there. Please._**


	17. Only Dreamers

_**Hi guys, sorry for the long wait. I've been out a lot in the holidays and there wasn't much time for writing. Thanks to Leslie the Sorceress for reviewing :)**_

_**Reviews really help, people. I know there are some people reading this, and I would really appreciate it if some of you would take a moment and write a few lines to tell me what you thought.**_

_**So last time, there was angst, fluff, and confrontations. Now they'll talk a bit about home life and the girls feature for a bit.**_

_**Read on!**_

* * *

"So tell me everything," I said, locking the door behind us and pulling out a chair. It was Tuesday morning, and after the events of the previous day I felt that it was finally ok to start asking questions, although I wasn't sure what kind of answers I'd get. Despite our new understanding, Quasi was still a naturally reserved person who wasn't used to baring himself to people, even if 'people' meant just me.

I dumped my bag on the table and watched as he took a seat and opened up his lunch, eyes averted, probably trying to decide how much to tell me, and for a moment I was annoyed. Didn't he know by now that he could trust me? Didn't he know that I only had his best interests at heart? Didn't he- I stopped, feeling foolish. Of course he would still be wary. He had to be. And I had to be patient and wait for him to become comfortable with talking to me.

My request floated in the air between us with the dust-motes and bits of sunlight that filtered through the ratty old blinds in the window, testing boundaries. 'Everything' was an awfully big thing to ask for, and pretty intrusive. It made sense that he would take a while to answer. While I waited for him to gather his thoughts together, I examined him- squashed features, wild red hair, hunch and all- and i decided that whatever happened, whatever fate or destiny or the future had in store for p , I would be there. I would protect this vulnerable, delicate person with everything I had, and I wouldn't let anyone stop me. If something had to be done, then I would do it.

Quasi laid his lunch out on the table and looked at it, still contemplating what I had said. At length, he sighed, laced his large fingers together and raised his emerald eyes to meet my brown ones, temporarily taking my breath away. It took me a moment before I realised that he had spoken.

"Huh?" I asked, feeling stupid.

"What d-do you mean by everything?" he repeated.

"I mean everything- when, why, how long, how have you hidden it all this time?" I paused. "And most importantly,,why didn't you tell anyone? Why can't I tell anyone?"

He sighed again and started nervously picking at his food. "I c-can't remember exactly when it started, b-but it was a long time ago. He was always aggressive, f-from as long as I can remember. And w-when he s-started drinking, he got v-violent. Its always been that way, even w-when-" he swallowed reflexively, "even when she was alive. I d-don't know."

He stopped and put a piece of bread in his mouth, and I took the opportunity to move to the seat next to him. If nothing else I could be there for emotional support.

"He's a policeman," he continued shakily, "s-so he knows w-what will happen if s-someone finds out. But he hides it, and I have t-to t-too or I'll get it w-worse next t-time. I-i'm sorry that I lied, but I had to, you see?"

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Of course I do. I was rude and stupid and never even considered what could be happening, and I'm sorry. Of course you had to lie. But why-"

"B-but why didn't I t-try to get help? Because it wouldn't have worked." He took another bite and looked away.

I frowned and waited until he had finished chewing before asking what he meant. "Surely he'd be taken for questioning or something and then you'd show your bruises and-"

"And he would say it was c-clumsiness and d-deny everything and b-beat me black and blue w-when we got home. It's happened before. Someone at s-school noticed the b-bruises and filed a c-complaint. He c-convinced them it w-was otherwise and b-beat me for b-being c-careless. That's why we k-kept moving. People noticed."

"So it wasn't bullies."

"No. Well, t-there were bullies, b-but that's not w-why we moved. "

I shook my head, a dull feeling settling in my chest. "I didn't think someone like him would care if you were being bullied at school. You know, when I dropped off your homework for you after that disaster of a costume ball, I mentioned it to him and he told me that it served you right for going out against his orders. Like, he didn't even care. I was so mad, you don't even know. I felt like slapping him. I didn't, obviously, but I could've. I still could. In fact," I grinned as I visualized it, "I could march right up to him and slap him silly, then go all Karate Kid on him and knock him flying. I wonder how he'd like to be beat up a bit."

Quasi shook his head, taking me seriously as usual. "Don't. J-just don't do anything. Pretend y-you haven't s-seen anything and f-forget it, OK?"

I sighed and absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder. "You know I can't do that, Kaz. Its not something I'm likely to forget for a long time. But I won't tell if you don't want me to. Just know that I'm here if you need it."

"I know." He glanced at me and nodded. "Thank you."

I smiled and moved back to my own seat, and we continued in silence.

* * *

We had just finished eating when there was a knock at the door, and I opened it to see the girls. Bed was jumping up and down excitedly, and I grinned when I saw what was in her hand. "Is that-?"

"Yup!" She held up the pack of cards and shook it around. "Do you have time?"

I grinned and opened the door wider for them to come in. "Hey, Kaz, the girls are here with Cards Against Humanity. Ever played before?" He shook his head. "Well, we're gonna play it. Do you want to play or watch?"

He glanced at the girls shyly and shrugged. "I think I'll w-watch."

Moments later, all of us were squished in together around the table and Dez, who had quickly been elected Card Czar, was dealing out the cards. We had only ever played once before, at a sleepover about a year ago when Bex bought about three extension packs. We were up half the night throwing out all the offensive cards and combining the rest into one pack after playing a round with our parents and they threatened to confiscate them for their less-than-clean humour. So we fixed the game, only for them to go missing for months until just recently when Bex found them and promised to bring them to school. Now the girl were here and so was Quasi, and I was looking forward to a chance for us all to hang out and enjoy something together without judgment.

I organized my cards so Quasi, who was sitting almost behind me, could see them too, as Dez read the rules again and drew a black card. "My country, tis thee, sweet land of..."

We all looked at our cards and already I could hear the giggles starting as Em and Bex chose their answers. I flipped through my cards, unable to hold in a snort at some of them, and selected my answer card.

When everyone had handed in their white card, Dez flipped them over and read them out with the black card, one by one. " My country, tis thee, sweet land of... obesity." We all nodded. It was true. "My country, tis thee, sweet land of... unfathomable stupidity." That was mine. It got a few titters. " My country, tis thee, sweet land of... menstral rage." Bex and I started laughing at that one, and Em choked on her sandwich and had to be beaten on the back for a minute before we could continue. The last one was: " My country, tis thee, sweet land of... aggressive Legolas hair flips."

I high-fived Bex for that one. "Yes! Nerdy cards for-the-win!"

We played a few more rounds, getting progressively louder and wilder as the card combinations got more hilarious.

"In his new self-produced album, Kanye West raps to the sound of... Kanye West."

"With enough time and pressure, an ether-soaked rag will turn into some god-damned peace and quiet."

"I got 99 problems, but becoming a blueberry ain't one of them."

"If God didn't want us to enjoy Loki, the trickster god, he wouldn't have given us that ass."

"And the academy award for tasteful side boob goes to Ghandi."

"Why do I hurt all over? Inappropriate yodeling."

"Lifetime presents: Teaching a robot to love; the story of: Stephen Hawking."

After finding a few cards that we missed last time, the combinations got sillier and funnier and more idiotic until we all were all crying with laughter. Our combined sense of humor could honestly find anything funny at this point. A few time during the game I glanced at Quasi to see if he was enjoying himself and was pleasantly surprised to find him laughing along with the rest of us...

And I knew Phoebus was wrong- it was possible for him to look beautiful. I also knew that beauty was a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models (thank you Sherlock), but when his eyes sparkled like emeralds when he laughed and rare joy was reflected all over his strangely-shaped face- and I never would've admitted it, but it was a face that I was becoming increasingly fond of- was there really any word I could use other than beautiful?

It was the kind of beauty that you wanted to keep looking at, and I wanted to stay right there forever and keep him laughing, not let another unhappy thought ever enter his mind again, just so I could see those eyes shine. But, like 'everything', 'forever' was a big thing to ask, and not likely to happen. Eventually, after we had been sidetracked into telling really bad jokes about robots and vegetables and there was about 5 minutes left of lunch, Dez called the happy ending and played the Make A Haiku card.

"A madman who lives in a policebox and kidnaps women, Gay aliens, A time travel paradox," was the winner by the simple fact that it almost exactly described Doctor Who, and we started to pack up. The girls took their rubbish and cards and headed out, thanking Quasi for joining them and waving to him before they left. It looked like they liked him, which was good. It made things easier for me, for sure.

Before lunch was over, though, there was one more thing I wanted to do.

"Hey Kaz," I started as I scrunched up my rubbish and aimed for the bin, "I was just wondering- if you wanted to- before we go- if you would, um..."

"I-If I would what?"

"Sing for me?" He blinked at this unexpected request, and I smiled sheepishly. "Just sing a song before the bell rings? I don't know, its a silly request, you don't have to if you don't want to-"

"OK."

"What?"

He shrugged. "I'll sing if you w-want me to."

I smiled. "Good."

"What d-d you w-want me to sing?"

"What do you know? Another Styx song maybe?"

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "I know one."

I sat back in my chair and waited as he cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began, softly, to sing.

"Is this the train to Desert Moon

Was all she said

But I knew I'd heard

that stranger's voice before..."

I knew this song! I smiled and closed my eyes, listening to the soft, smooth voice of my friend and wondering where it had been hiding all that time.

"I turned to look into her eyes

But she moved away

She was standing in the rain

Trying hard to speak my name-"

"They say first love never runs dry..." I joined in, adjusting my voice to harmonize with his, and he nodded and continued.

"The waiter poured our memories into tiny cup

We stumbled over words we longed to hear

We talked about the dreams we'd lost, or given up

When a whistle cut the night

And shook silence from our lives

As the last train rolled towards to the dune...

Those summer nights, when we were young

We bragged of things

We'd never done

We were dreamers

Only dreamers

And in our haste

To grow too soon

We left our innocence

On Desert Moon

We were dreamers

Only dreamers...

On Desert Moon..." we finished, and I found myself staring into his eyes as the song ended, marveling at the shades of green that shined inside them. I moved back self-consciously, realizing at the same time that I wasn't the only one. He had been staring as much into my eyes as I had into his. Was that normal? Were you supposed to have such a connection when doing a duet? I wanted to believe that it was because we were focusing on each others vocals, but I honestly wasn't sure. When did I start second-guessing myself so much?

"That was amazing," I said, ignoring my confusing thoughts and instead focusing on the performance that I had joined. "I have to say I'm in love with your voice."

He blushed- actually blushed!- and look down at his hands, which were fidgeting in his lap. "Th-thanks. You w-weren't bad yourself."

I tried not to smile too wide when I thanked him, but really I was thrilled with the praise. This was a new development in social interaction on Quasi's part, and he was hardly used to compliments himself yet. Giving compliments, however slight, was good progress. Not to mention flattering. I never actually thought I had a good voice, but I had to say, singing with another person wasn't too bad. "Its all your fault," I commented jokingly. "You sounded so good that I had to work hard to match it."

"We s-sing w-well together, d-don't we?" he answered, glancing up from his hands to meet my eyes. And suddenly I had a feeling that there was a meaning behind his words that hadn't been there before. And I felt extremely nervous about that.

Before my mind could start to speculate about the meaning behind his words or my own nervousness, the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch and breaking the silence between us. I jumped up and grabbed my bag, eager to leave and forget this awkwardness, and waited for him by the door. When he was out, I locked it behind us and crouched down to untie and retie my shoelaces, giving him a head start. For some reason I didn't want to walk back with him this time, so I told him to go on and tried to focus on my laces, which were suddenly very difficult to tie. I felt strange, like there was something I was supposed to remember but my brain didn't want to. My stomach and heart felt link one big knot and my fingers were fidgety, unable to tie the laces on the first go. It took me a few tries before I could stand up again, and by then, Quasi was gone.

Conflicted and confused, I hoisted my bag on my shoulder and headed to my next class, wondering what on earth was wrong with me.

* * *

_**Short chapter this time. I wanted to put what happens next into its own chapter, so this is a big as it gets for now. But the next chapter should be up soon (I know I say that a lot but it's true this time).**_

_**I feel like the story is becoming very cliche-y, what with the 'not knowing how i feel' thing. It's just that I want to take a long time for things to develop, cuz I hate the 'love at first sight' that most movies portray. I don't know. What do you think? How much longer do you think I can draw it out? **_

_**Review and tell me what think :)**_


	18. I Won't Give Up

_**Hey guys, hope I haven't been too long. I was away for the weekend and had no internet access. **_

_**Ok, so last chapter there were some serious conversations, card games and romantic singing. Now there's more sneaking around and we meet a new character.**_

_**Thanks to Leslie the Sorceress and Antikreativ for your reveiws. Keep 'em coming, readers.**_

_**Read on!**_

* * *

When I look into your eyes  
It's like watching the night sky  
Or a beautiful sunrise  
Well, there's so much they hold  
And just like them old stars  
I see that you've come so far  
To be right where you are  
How old is your soul?

Well, I won't give up on us  
Even if the skies get rough  
I'm giving you all my love  
I'm still looking up

'I Won't Give Up'- Jason Mraz.

* * *

The rest of the week was pretty ordinary, with no other awkwardness or strange feelings, and practice went well every lunchtime. The girls joined us half the time to listen to my progress and probably to spy on us too. I didn't want to care about them joining our sessions but a tiny part of me was actually annoyed that they were there. And that is itself worried me. When the heck had Quasi become more important to me than them? There was something amiss in the way my mind worked, I was sure. But I couldn't pinpoint it, so I just left it and suffered in silence.

But on the weekend, something unexpected happened. Since my grandparents lived next door, they would often come over and tell us where they were going before they went out in case we ever needed them or wanted to come along. So when grandad came over and told us that he was going to see a friend in Boronia Heights, you can bet which one I thought of first. Having got the sneaking around thing well practiced now, I decided to pay a little visit.

On a whim, I grabbed my skateboard on my way out the door, and we left, me thinking out a plan all the way into town. We had some friends who lived in a housing estate on the way into Boronia, and it wasn't too far to Quasi's house from there. I could walk or skateboard there if I was game. Was I game? After twice walking around that neighborhood at night I was fairly certain that there could only be one answer to that. I didn't even question the fact that even though I saw him every day, I was willing to go to almost-extreme lengths to see him on the weekend as well, despite the fact I had never in my life been so dishonest with my family before. Things were changing, it seemed.

So I asked grandad to drop me off on the way, and he agreed to it. He knew the friends I were supposedly visiting, and since it wasn't out of the way he has nothing against it.

Dishonesty had never been so easy.

He dropped me off in front of their place and told me he'd be back in about half-an-hour, and I waved until he was out of sight. Then I ran out of the estate as fast I could and jumped on my skateboard once I hit the main footpath. I skated down the road, hair flying in the wind and legs already sore from the unexpected spurt of excersise; passed the shops, turned down the right block, counted the streets and almost collided with the signpost for Notre Dame Ct. Breathing heavily and wondering if I was going to have a heart attack, I dragged myself up the street and stopped in front of number 14, only to find something totally unexpected waiting for me- another car.

_Oh._

I scratched my head as I tried to catch my breath, swinging my skateboard back and forth and waiting for something to come to me.

_What now?_

Who was the visitor? What did they want? I couldn't imagine Quasi or his dad taking social calls. Was it still possible for me to sneak in? Was I game enough to try?

I smirked at this last question. Again, there was really only one answer to that.

I tiptoed forward- completely unnecessary given that the grass muffled my footsteps anyway- and when I was sure there was no one around to see me, I jumped the fence and quickly made my way around the side. I felt very exposed in the daylight, but the street was empty and most of the windows covered, so it seemed I was safe for now.

Quasi's window was closed, and when I peered through the smudged, dirty glass, I saw him sitting on the bed, paper and pencil in hand, drawing. I watched him for a moment, absorbed in his activity, extremely focused, before realizing I didn't have very long and tapped on the window. He jumped and looked over, eyes wide, and I smiled and waved as he reached over and pushed the window up.

"Hi there!" I greeted him brightly, leaning on the windowsill and peering inside. "How are you this afternoon?"

"I'm f-fine," he replied, nervously peering over his shoulder at the closed door. I could hear muffled voices coming from behind it, but no-one seemed to have heard anything from this end yet. "W-what are you d-doing here?"

"Well it's good to see you too." I shrugged and held up my skateboard. "I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. Don't worry, I won't be long, and I'll be quiet. Can I come in?"

He looked flustered for a moment, but then he nodded and shifted over. I hoisted myself up and fell inside, taking care not to roll off the bed or make too much noise, and sat up quickly and looked around. I was in a boy's room. I was in a boy's room! Now this was different. It certainly wasn't as cluttered as mine, or as colorful, and that was really saying something since my room was pretty neutral. This was just grey and a little bit of black here and there. No ornaments, no decoration except for a framed photo with cracked glass on the desk. Pretty boring. Still, it was a boy's room!

"So, what are you doing?" I asked, crossing my legs and making myself comfortable.

Quasi picked up the papers from the bed and folded them in half, trying to hide them. "I-I was just d-drawing, that's all," he muttered, about to stuff them under the bed. I stopped him just in time.

"Wait, can't I see?"

He passed them to me without resistance, embarrassed. "Th-they're not v-very good..."

I doubted his words, because I knew that he would always undervalue his work, but I said nothing. Instead I examined the drawings for myself and decided that my friend was ridiculously talented and way too modest- although the latter was probably his father's fault.

The drawings- more like amazing works of art- were done in black pencil and ranged from animals to trees to faces. The first few pages were wolves and elephants, copied from an animal book I had seen on the desk. The details were intricate, wrinkles and fur and shadows and eyes done meticulously. The next few were leaves and shrubs and trees as seen from the window. Dez liked to draw nature too, her favorite subjects being gum trees, but hers were nothing like this. Tiny veins on leaves, rough, stringy bark on trees, little gaps and stalks in the bushes outside; I traced these little things with my eyes and committed them to memory, wondering how one person could be so talented. And then I got to the portraits.

The first was a woman, unfamiliar and striking. Although only in pencil, I could tell that she was in her mid-twenties and had dark hair and eyes. She looked exotic and foreign, perhaps European or Middle-Eastern. Her hair was wild, her eyes had a far-away look in them, and her mouth turned up at the corners miscieviously. I didn't know her and already I liked her.

The next one surprised me, but on reflection I realized it shouldn't have. Esme had had an impact on Quasi's life, no matter how brief their fake friendship had been, so that I guess it made sense that she would feature in his artwork. Yes, it was her alright, detailed and life-like and beautiful down to the last line. She was smiling for once, but whether intentionally or not, he had captured the malicious glint in her eyes perfectly. Even in sketch she was cold, imposing, and calculating.

And the last one was... me. Me, bug-eyed, long-nosed and freckled, exactly in proportion and perfectly correct, but somehow softened and refined. It was me, but prettier. Almost... beautiful.

I had been silent until now, but this last picture moved me to say something.

"These... These are amazing. I can't believe..." I cleared my throat, amazed to find myself almost moved to tears by my portrait. This was totally unlike me, and I didn't know what to do about it. "I-Is that me?"

That was how to deal with unexpected emotions- ask obvious questions.

"Yes." Quasi answered timidly, searching my face. "D-do you like it?"

"Like it- it's beautiful! But why did you make it so... so... I don't know... Is it really me?"

"Yes."

"But it's beautiful!"

"Yes...?" He looked at me as if too ask: And your point is?

And suddenly I understood.

I had never blushed in my life, but if I had been able to I probably would've. As it was, the butterflies in my stomach were uncountable and my brain was spaghetti. I put down the drawings and tried to gather my scattered thoughts, at the same time trying not to appear too affected by what he had said.

"S-s-so, um, wh-who's here?" I managed to ask, cursing the stammer that only came out every so often, usually when i was angry or excited or, in this case, extremely nervous.

Quasi's eyes flicked over to the door for a second, where the muffled voices continued. "Th-that's Johanna. She's a d-distant relative a-and a... a social worker, I think she s-said. She comes over sometimes and t-tries to talk to us, b-but dad doesn't like her. She asks t-too many questions. But she g-gives us money, so he has to b-be civil."

"Gives you money?" I wrinkled my nose and pointed behind me. "Well he doesn't seem to be using for anything important- the house is a wreck! What does he do with it?"

Quasi shrugged sadly. "Drinks, mostly."

I immediately felt terrible. "Oh Quasi, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "It's f-fine, I'm used to it."

"That doesn't make it right." I pursed my lips, angry. "Doesn't Johanna see what a bad environment this is? She should be able to do something about it!"

"She tries. But d-dad makes sure it looks s-safe enough t-to not n-need reporting."

"I wish I could do something."

"You can't."

"I know."

But I didn't want to believe that. I wanted to believe that there was something I could do, something that would make everyone plainly see that not everything was right here. But I couldn't risk getting Quasi even more hurt than he already was. I had to be patient and think it through. I had to-

I caught sight of a clock on the wall.

Crap. I was going to be late.

I gave him an apologetic look. "I have to go."

He held up a hand. "Hold on. Wait for Johanna to leave f-first."

"And how long will that take?"

"She's getting ready to go. Listen."

I listened. Though I couldn't really hear any difference in the constant mumble of their conversation, I could hear the unmistakable jingle of keys being handled, which I supposed to mean that indeed she was preparing to leave.

I edged myself up onto the windowsill and grabbed my skateboard, taking care not to make any unnecessary noise. "I have someone waiting for me. She won't see me, I promise."

He nodded. "Goodbye."

"See you at school." I slipped out of the window, shook myself off, and made my way to the front of the house.

It turned out Johanna was doing the same thing. I only just managed to jump back before the door opened and a short, smartly-dressed blonde woman walked out, followed by Officer Frollo. Johanna stopped and turned halfway down the weed-strewn path to say something to Frollo, and I felt my breath catch in my throat as her eyes caught mine. This was it. I was going to be caught out by a social worker and a policeman and god knew what would be the consequences of that. Escorted home, telling my parents, worrying grandad sick when I wasn't where I was supposed to be...

But I wasn't. The woman looked at me, then went back to talking to Frollo. Then she pointed to the other side of the house and they headed over that way. I couldn't believe my luck.

I did not waste any time getting out of there and soon I was skating up the road towards my destination.

But I didn't make it there by myself. In no time at all, a car pulled up beside me and Johanna rolled the window down.

"Do you want a lift?" she called, raising her eyebrows and looking me up and down. I imagined I looked pretty terrible- the way back was all uphill and I was sweaty and aching. Now believe me when I say that while I might be reckless and stupid sometimes, I had been well taught not to accept anything from strangers. So I definitely hesitated to get in that car. But the woman was a social worker, and she had saved my butt a few minutes ago. And she had an aura of 'niceness' around her. Plus, it was hot outside and the air con was on. So I murmured a 'thanks' and got in.

"I'm Johanna du Moulin," she said immediately, pulling out onto the road.

"Michigan Greene," I muttered, looking out the window. I was still a little uncomfortable being in a car with a stranger and I feared the questions she was inevitably going to ask, so I suppose that was the reason for my unfriendliness.

"And where am I taking you?"

"Madison Heights."

She nodded and was silent for a little while. Not for long, though.

"So," she began conversationally, glancing at me. "That was some impressive sneaking back there. I didn't even hear you leave. I take it you've had some practice?"

"Some," I allowed. I wondered if I should tell her everything or if that would only end the way Quasi seemed to believe it would. Her voice was friendly, but the tone beneath was watchful, probing. She definitely wanted to know something.

"I also take it that you're not very welcome there, or else you would've used the door."

"Officer Frollo isn't a very welcoming person."

"You've got that right." Johanna sighed and shook her head. "I honestly don't know what I'm going t- um, never mind. Sufficed to say, he's a character. Always has been, but especially since she died..." She cleared her throat and rapidly changed the subject. "Anyway, I presume you were visiting Quasimodo?"

"You presume correctly."

"Let me guess- school friend? Sneaking out for frequent illegal visits? Pretty close, too, by the looks of things."

"Right on all accounts."

"I'm glad."

I blinked and looked over at her. "Huh?"

She was smiling. "I've known the boy all his life and I have never known him to have a close relationship with anyone besides his mother, and she's been gone for quite some time. You are probably the first person to care even a little bit about him, including his father. Given his outward qualities and introverted-ness, I commend you for your effort."

Well, she put that in the nicest way possible. "How do you know we have a close relationship? How do you know if its an effort?"

"You sneak out to see him pretty often- that in itself proves that you care about him and put yourself out for him."

"Maybe I'm not putting myself out," I persisted. "Maybe I'm a rebel who likes to sneak out and... and... and, I don't know, visit people? Maybe I sneak out for the fun of it? How do you know?"

"Call it an educated guess, dear. You hardly look rebellious. I can tell that both of you are very alike- introverted, protective, unlikely to trust very easily. Friendship will probably be good for him. God knows, he needs a bit of positivity in his life."

"Oh, he so does," I agreed soberly, only realizing too late that this comment would spark her interest.

Johanna paused for a moment, watching the road, and then: "What do you know about the Frollos?" she asked bluntly, watching me as closely as she could while driving.

I mentally slapped myself for letting such a little thing slip and tried to think of a convincing answer. I couldn't tell her what I knew, could I? How did I know what she would do with the information? "Um, not a lot. Quasi doesn't talk much."

"But somehow you know that he badly needs a friend and that his home life isn't the greatest. And you're awfully protective of him for someone doesn't know a lot about him."

I said nothing.

Johanna slowed as she approached the entry to Madison Heights and pulled onto the curb, then reached inside her handbag next to her feet and pulled out a business card. "Before you leave, I just want to say something. I am very close to the family, both personally and professionally. I suspect something not quite right going on but my questions go unanswered. I also suspect you know more than your are letting on. I only want the best for the boy, and I think you may be able to help. Please know that you can trust me with anything to you chose to tell me. Take my card and please email me when you can."

I took the card and tucked it into my pocket, then grabbed my skateboard and slid out of the car. "I'll do that. Thanks for the ride. And also, letting me get away."

Johanna nodded and smiled tightly. "I wouldn't have let you get caught, that's for sure. Talk to you later."

I waved as she drove away, and then I ran.

* * *

It turned out I didn't have to rush. Grandad had dropped by the heath food shop and got sidetracked, so by the time he pulled up I had already been waiting for ten minutes. He suspected nothing, and we spent the car ride home in relative silence.

When I got home I opened my computer and brought up my email. I don't think I knew whether I was actually going to send anything, but I started writing just the same. If anything, it was a way to organize my thoughts.

"Dear Ms du Moulin;

I am gong to tell you something that may or may not shock you. Please, don't react, don't do anything, and please read to the end..."

* * *

_**Another shortish one this time, sorry. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. Some pretty interesting things are gonna happen soon. You could say meeting Johanna du Moulin is the beginning of the end.**_

_**Oh, by the way, do any of the Hugo-fans somewhere out there recognize the woman's name? No? Not even slightly familiar? Perhaps this will clear it up: Jehan Frollo du Moulin. Claude's little idiot of a brother. Yeah, so I decided to put him in here. As a her.**_

_**I didn't know I was going to do this until just recently, but I think I've reversed the characters a bit. Claude is now the aggressive drinker and Jehan/Johanna is the concerned, serious one. Don't know how that happened. Hope it works out.**_

_**Anyway, reviews are very welcome as usual. Please tell me what you thought :)**_


	19. Que Sera

_**So hopefully I didn't take too long with this chapter. Not much to say, thanks to Antikreativ and AmaryllisBloom for your feedback.**_

* * *

At the end of the day  
Some you win, some you don't  
So I'm glad that I'm here  
With some friends that I know  
Always there with a smile  
Saying you're not alone  
Singing la la la la  
Que sera

Yesterday is history  
You gotta get through it  
Tomorrow is a mystery  
So let's just do it

And even when the rain falls  
You and I will stand tall  
No matter what you go through  
I'll never leave you

So you gotta be strong  
Live by the words of the song  
Together is where we belong  
Never stop dreaming  
Keep holding on.

'Que Sera'- Justice Crew.

* * *

I ended up sending the email.

It contained everything I had been told or found out about what happened at 14 Notre-Dame Court, and Quasi's plea for me not to tell anyone for fear it would get worse. I then begged her not to report it yet and asked for her help to think up an alternative.

Now I had an anxious wait. Would she freak out and call the police as soon as she read the first line? Or would she watch and wait like me? Had I done the right thing in telling a stranger? Would I regret it?

And the anxiety continued into week two when I found out Quasi was away again. By now I was sure that he only stayed home to nurse his wounds. Bruises were suspicious. If that was the case, his monster of a father had struck again.

I hated that man.

On Tuesday afternoon, after another no-show day and a lonely wait after school, I asked dad to drive me over. I had the usual homework delivery, but I just wanted to see what the damage was this time.

"Don't freak out when you see me go around the side; the door is jammed so I usually knock on the window," I told him as I got out. He nodded, and I headed over to the house.

I picked my way over the lumpy ground and ducked around spider webs, making my way to the window and peering in. I saw him right away, sitting slumped on the bed and gloomily strumming his guitar with no particular tune.

"Quasi?" I whispered, tapping on the cracked-open window. He turned from his place on the bed and my heart skipped a beat. No, not because of any sudden beauty, but because of the large purple bruise that surrounded his good eye.

"Hello, Mich," he greeted me, brightening up a little at the sound of my voice. Usually that would make me smile, but not this time.

I pursed my lips and pointed to his eye, trying not to grit my teeth. "That looks nasty."

"What, th-this?" He raised a hand to his face and covered his eye uneasily. "It's not as p-painful as it looks."

I raised an eyebrow unbelievingly. "Really?"

"OK, it is pretty painful," he admitted, slumping down again.

"I'm so gonna kill that man."

He sighed. "Mich..."

"OK, fine, whatever. Homework for you." I pushed it through the window where it landed on the bed and turned to go.

"Mich, d-don't be upset!" His voice was soft and pleading, begging me to come back. Poor thing, he's so lonely...

I sighed and turned around. "I'm sorry. I just don't like seeing you like this. It's not fair. I want to do something about it. I want-"

Footsteps outside the door and a voice calling his name. I gasped and ducked as the door opened and Frollo walked in. _I hope he didn't see me, god I hope he didn't see me..._

"Get dressed," I heard him growl. He was sober, thank god, so hopefully there would be no violence. Yet. "Wear something black. We're going out again." A pause, and then, "You better get her this time."

Quasi stammered out a response, and the door closed. I popped up, eyes wide, swiftly making the connections. "Holy cow."

He avoided my eyes. "I-I'm sorry. Y-you should go."

My jaw dropped. "But he's gonna... But you're gonna... But why?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Its c-complicated."

"You're not really going to do this, are you?'?

"I have to."

Of course he did. That asshat of a father would beat him black and blue if he didn't.

"I d-don't want to," he continued, reaching down and pulling out a black hoodie from under the bed, "But I have to. S-so anything you c-can do, please do."

What the hell could I do? "But I don't understand. Why is he doing this?"

He shrugged again, frustrated. "She's Asian."

"And he's yellow-eye." My eyes widened again. "He's really so prejudiced that he'd go that far?"

Silence as he pulled the hoodie over his head and went searching for something, probably black pants or a beanie. He wouldn't want to be recognized again.

"But what is he going to do with her?" Even as I asked the question I was running over the possible answers in my mind. And there weren't a lot. Let's face it, there are only so many things you can do to someone you kidnap, and none of them are very nice. I definitely had to do something.

Just then I remembered that dad was waiting for me in the car. How long had I spent at the window? I turned away. "I have to go, dad's waiting for me."

"Mich." I looked back to see him staring at me with pleading eyes. "Please, if you c-can do anything... I don't want to do this."

"I really wish I could, but..." I shook my head. I had to be positive. "I can try." With that I left, sprinting back to the car before dad could beep the horn.

"Sorry, I got caught up talking," I told dad as he put the car in gear. He nodded but said nothing, instead focusing on getting us out of Boronia Heights and onto the main road. I think he was too distracted by problems at work to worry too much about it anyway. I was grateful for his silence, for it meant that I could try to think of a plan.

My first idea was simple: wait till we got home and call the police. But then there was Frollo to think about. To his knowledge, Quasi was the only one who knew what they were going to do. So if the police went there because of a tip-off, wouldn't the logical conclusion be that Quasi was the one doing the tipping off? And that would just result in more pain for Quasi and more guilt for me. So no tip-offs.

What, then? I couldn't tell dad, he would just call the police. Maybe I could tell Esme herself? Warn her to stay in a group or out of the car park? That could possibly work- if she listened. Hopefully her previous scare would lend her some common sense to look past her hatred of me and listen for once. It was a stretch, but it was the only thing I could think of.

"Hey dad, could we stop by the Tavern for bit before we go home?" I asked hesitantly. "I... um... have to give a message to someone. Who works there. A friend. It's for school." I had to stop myself from giving a detailed description of the situation and instead hoped that I sounded convincing enough.

Dad sighed but nodded, looking tired. "Be quick."

"I will." I tried not to dance in my seat as we took the exit towards the Tavern and pulled into the carpark. He stopped in front of the door and I leaped out. "Back in a minute."

It was awfully crowded for a Tuesday night. I weaved my way through the many people looking for tables and getting drinks, wondering if she would even be out here. I couldn't see anyone who looked remotely like her. Maybe she wouldn't even come out here. Shows weren't put on in the public eating area. There were function rooms for that. And she was probably in a back room getting ready. I didn't have time for this, but I couldn't leave without at least trying to help.

I was standing on my toes, trying to see above everyone's heads and starting to panic, when the guy ran into me. I lost balance and tumbled into a few people at the bar, thankfully not spilling any drinks; after apologizing profusely and straightening myself up, I glared at the waiter, ready to rip into him for not watching where he was going - don't judge me, I was under a lot of stress at the time- before realizing that he was of the ground trying to collect all the cutlery he had spilled off his tray. So, begrudgingly, I crouched down to help.

He was pretty good-looking, this boy. A bit nervous, a bit nerdy, but cute. He stammered out an apology and told me I didn't need to help, but I helped anyway, wondering if I could use him to save Esme. I was desperate enough at this time to consider seeking help from strangers.

"Do you know Esme Azarola?" I asked abruptly, placing the last fork on his tray.

He stopped to think, unaware that I was extremely pressed for time. "Esme Az-"

"Azarola. Works here. Dancer. Very pretty, about 16, big hair, European. Nearly got abducted a few months ago. Know her?"

"Yes." The boy smiled, showing perfect teeth. "I saved her. She hasn't been around for a while, but I think she'll be here tonight. Why?"

I immediately made my decision. "OK, I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully..."

* * *

I hoped the danger was averted that night. I worried all night about Quasi and the boy and Esme and Frollo. What if the boy couldn't help after all? What if he got hurt? I didn't even know his name. I had put a complete stranger in possible danger. If anything happened to him I would feel so bad...

And then what if Frollo succeeded in abducting Esme? What would he do to her? Would it be my fault for not trying to help more than I did? Where would Quasi be in the picture? What if they were arrested? What would I do without Quasi to help me pass lunchtime? Never mind about that- what would happen to him?

I didn't sleep well that night. My life had become frightening and full of secrets and I didn't know how to cope with it. How much longer could I keep this up? It was hard to say.

I was pretty jittery at school the next morning. The girls and I talked about trivial stuff like fandoms and shopping and future holiday activities, but inside I was impatiently waiting to see Quasi again and learn the outcome of the night before.

I kind of missed the days when the trivial stuff was all I cared about. How things had changed...

But thankfully I didn't have to wait too long. Not only was art the first subject of the day, but Quasimodo was actually there. We were right into our painting unit now and we were starting our 'practice' canvases, which were basically self-portraits while we tried to find a style that we would use in our final works. I just had to make sure my easel was next to his- not hard to do, since everyone was still mostly avoiding him. The bullying thing was working out really well apart from a few little issues, but people were still pretty cold when it came to the outcasts of the school. Which now seemed to include me, 'the weird girl who hung around the ugly dude'. No, seriously, that was my nickname now. Thank goodness it hadn't spread to the girls yet. They were still viewed pretty much the same- not important enough to notice. Lucky them.

But anyway, I set up my easel close to Quasi's and got into painting. He must have been waiting for me to speak, for he looked up expectantly as soon as I leaned towards him.

"So what happened last night?" I whispered, noticing that his bruise had gone down and his hand was bandaged.

"We d-didn't get her," he whispered back, mixing his paints slowly. "Th-there was a boy with her and he d-defended her w-with a knife."

"Wow, go kid!" I tried not to seem too pleased, instead looking at his injured hand. "Is that how you got that?"

"Yes. It's not too bad, th-though. It just stings." He paused and looked over at me. "W-was that you? Did you t-tell him about it?"

I bit my lip. "Yeah. I was going to tell Esme, but I couldn't find her. So I told the first person I saw what was going to happen and asked him to keep an eye on her. I didn't know if he would, but he carried out his responsibilities quite well. Sorry about the hand."

"It's fine." He sighed. "Thank you, for helping. I really didn't want to do it."

"I didn't want you to do it, either. I'm glad it worked out."

He nodded and started to paint, and I glanced down at my sketches, wondering where to start.

* * *

There was an email waiting for me when I got home.

I had known it was there all day, but I had wanted to open it alone, which I hadn't been. We had had a very good music lesson that lunchtime, and I hadn't been able to open my computer. So now I was impatient to read it, but anxious too.

There was no point in delaying further. I opened up the browser and clicked on the email, twiddling my thumbs nervously. Then I started to read.

"Dear Michigan;

I was pleased to receive your prompt email, and I have given much thought to my reply. Since you already know much about the current situation, I see no point in concealing further information from you.

That fact is that nothing you have told me is a surprise. I have known about Claude's abuse of Quasimodo for a while now. The reason that nothing has been done is that there has never been any proof.

On at least 3 separate occasions, Claude Frollo has been taken in for questioning because of a complaint or accusation made by a concerned party, only for an investigation to be done that turns up... nothing. No proof, and neither would admit anything. Any injuries were explained away as clumsiness. Quasimodo showed some classic signs of abuse, but with no proof to back them up they were dismissed as shyness and reservation because of his looks and bullying at school. Claude's drinking was never observed as a great enough problem to take the boy off him and he was let off with light warnings only.

This has been going on for a long time and even after repeated visits I have nothing solid to back up any claim I may make. I am now looked upon as somewhat of a nuisance.

I understand the boy's fears in regard to your telling about the incident, but an eyewitness account could be just what we need to be believed. I ask that you consider testifying against Claude if it comes to that in the future. You don't need to make a decision now, but please think about it.

I thank you again for your email and I looked forward to your reply.

Regards,

Johanna du Moulin

I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, letting the I formation sink in. I didn't quite know how to react to what I had just read, but I did know one thing: testifying was out of the question. I mean, of course I wanted to help Quasi, but what if I didn't work out? What if I was dismissed as a liar or a nuisance, like Johanna? For all they knew, she could've been coaching me what to say.

Proof, on the other hand... Whoever did the investigating the last 3 times may not have seen anything incriminating, but then they weren't a determined teenage girl used to sneaking around and ready to fight for her friend.

Proof? Hell yeah, I could get that...

* * *

_**I feel like I'm getting Mich to do all the work and making her into a hero or something. That wasn't what I was aiming for when I started, but the story kind of gets away from me sometimes. Oh well. It's fiction, it doesn't have to be realistic. Tel me what you think!**_

_**Also, tell me whether you think I should make another chapter from Pierre's POV. And also, what I should do with him in the future. **_

_**Leave a review, as usual. I love to hear your opinions.**_


	20. Ugly Truths

_**This is a pretty quick update- only took me two nights to write. Basically I wanted to answer whatever questions were raised by the last chapter in the best way I could. So here, Mich goes looking for answers and finds more than she thought.**_

_**Thanks to Antikreativ, Tineyboppa, and AmaryllisBloom for your encouraging and thoughtful reviews.**_

_**No song for this chapter because my collection is on my computer which is getting fixed. I'm open to suggestions, though.**_

* * *

The news of Esme's second attempted abduction spread around the school like a wildfire in those few days before the weekend. Once again she was the center of attention, surrounded by sympathizers and gossipers alike every lunchtime as she told of her harrowing escape from the clutches of the evil men- seriously, I had heard it described like that. It was true, though, and that was the worst part. Esme had been through an ordeal, to say the least, and people were lapping it up like entertainment.

It was said that police had no idea who to suspect. Neither Esme nor the courageous boy who had been with her had seen any identifying features on the would-be kidnappers, for they had been well-covered. That, I was grateful for- at least Quasi was safe for now. The trail was cold. No one had seen anything, no one knew anything, security camera footage wasn't very helpful, and the police had no idea what to do.

If they only knew that the guilty one was one of their own...

As for me, the more I thought about it, the more confused I was. Why was Frollo so obsessed with Esme? Was there a particular reason? I mean, sure, he was yellow-eye and she was Asian, so obviously he wouldn't like her, but she wasn't the only Asian person in the world. So what was it about her that made him try to do unspeakable things? And, an even better question, how did he even know her? There was obviously a lot more going on than I realized, and I wanted to find out what.

So, for the first time since I had stood up to her the day everything had changed, I decided to talk to Esme.

I didn't want to go right up to her while she was surrounded by people, so I waited until the end of lunch, when I knew she would be in the toilets, primping. What I wasn't expecting to see was her, the brave, beautiful Esme Azarola, bent over the sink and sobbing her heart out.

Not in all the breakups I had seen her go through nor in the toppling of her so-called reign or terror had I ever seen 'the fox' this vulnerable and... broken. In the 11 years I had known her, I had never seen her shed a single tear. And yet here she was, shoulders shaking and tears making black tracks down her cheeks. It was an equally unnerving and heartbreaking sight.

And I realized that I had to do something about it.

I approached her, my footfalls too quiet to hear even in the echoing bathroom, and laid a hesitating hand on her back, holding my breath as I waited for her to spin around and shove me away. It didn't happen. She continued to cry as I rubbed her back awkwardly, wondering at the strangeness of the situation. A few months ago I would never have seen myself standing in a bathroom comforting a crying Esme. Heck, yesterday it wouldn't have even crossed my mind. I was supposed to hate this girl, this bully who had ruined so many lives and was feared by so many people, not sympathize with her. But so many things had happened since then that nothing was black and white anymore. And here I was.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, continuing to rub her back as her sobs began to get softer. "I'm so sorry for what happened."

I'm not sure how long I stood there, trying to offer some kind of comfort to the person I used to hate so intensely, but eventually she stopped crying altogether and gave one shuddering sigh, still bent over and gripping the sides of the sink as if she was going to collapse at any moment. I stopped rubbing and stepped away, unsure of what to do now, and shoved my hands in my pockets for lack of anything better to do with them.

"A-are you OK now?" I asked timidly as she stood there with her hair in her face and just breathed for a moment.

She nodded and straightened up, pulling her hair out of her face, and grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser. Running them under the water, she began to dab at her face, trying to wash off the sticky black marks that were the remains of her tears. "I'm fine, I just needed a moment. This whole kidnapping thing has been kinda intense, you know?"

I nodded. "I know."

At the sound of my voice she stiffened and slowly turned her head to look at me, as if she only just realized that I was there. Her eyes, though still watery and red, glared at me in shock and anger. "You."

Her voice was low with fury and mixed with horror. I blinked, wondering who she thought I was at first. "Hi..." I gave a sheepish wave, hoping she wasn't going to attack me.

To my surprise and eternal relief, she just sighed and turned away. "Figures."

"What?"

"That you of all people would be the one to see me like this. Go on then."

"What?" I repeated stupidly.

She sniffed and wiped away the last of the mascara tracks. "Go and tell everyone that you found me crying and that I'm a wimp and a failure as a person. I suppose its only fair."

"Why would I do that?"

"Cuz you hate me. Why else would you follow me here and watch me cry?"

"Well, I actually wanted to talk to you, but if you're not feeling well..."

She narrowed her damp, smudged eyes. "You're not here to get revenge?"

"No." I smiled. "Not today, anyway. For now, I just wanna talk."

"Oh. Ok." She reached into the handbag that was permanently attached to her side and pulled out a makeup case. "Go ahead."

"I'm just curious about these... ah... attempted abductions," I started, trying to word it in a way that wouldn't make her suspicious. "Why are they happening? Do have any idea who it is?"

"I don't know!" she snapped, carefully reapplying her makeup. "All I know is that both times two guys tried to grab me and shove me in a car. I don't know who, I don't know why. And now my parents have grounded me, so it won't be happening again."

"But do you know anyone who might've-"

"No." She paused, frowning. "Well, there is this ugly old guy who I see pretty much every night I work. He creeps me out, the perv. Stares at my boobs all night."

"Well, you should be used to that, I mean, you are a dancer-" I stopped, wincing as her angry eyes raked over me.

"How-?"

"Its kind-of common knowledge. Pretty much everyone knows what you do. Well, its a rumor, anyway."

She swore, accidentally jerking her hand and brushing mascara over her cheek. Suddenly furious, she threw the tube down at the bag, missing and scattering her various products across the bathroom floor.

"Are you OK?" I asked anxiously as she balled her hands into fists.

She turned to me, giving me the look of death. Suddenly, she wasn't Esme the sad and broken anymore. Esme the evil ice queen was rearing her ugly head again. "What right do people have to talk about my life? How dare they spread rumors about me? And you, little miss innocent, you trying to get me to talk about it so you can tell everyone and have a good old laugh at the pathetic attention seeker. You know what? My life was perfect before you came along. Now everyone's talking about how slutty and attention-seeking I am and how I just made up the kidnapping stories to get people to feel sorry for me." She shoved me unexpectedly and I crashed into the hard tile wall, finally afraid. She shoved me a few more times, yelling now. "Get away from me you ugly bitch. God, I hate your face so much. Go away. Just go. But watch your back."

I took the opportunity to escape before she could shove me again, and I ran all the way to class, wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

The next lunchtime, I decided to go to a higher source for answers. I hadn't really gotten anything out of Esme besides confusion and the well established fact that she hated me, so I was just as hopeless as before in that respect. The 'ugly old dude' who stared at her boobs and insulted her could possibly be Frollo. It would make sense, given the things he had called her. But that only meant that he both perved on her and hated her. Why would he try to kidnap her? What was I missing?

There was only one person who could know enough about him to tell me what I needed to know. That lunchtime I told Quasi I couldn't practice with him and instead borrowed Dez's phone and removed myself to the back oval, under the trees and away from prying eyes. Then I called Johanna du Moulin.

After the formalities, I got right to my subject. "Have you heard about the attempted abductions at the Park Ridge Tavern?"

"Yes, one happened recently. No one knew who it was. Why?"

"It was Frollo."

"Oh." She paused, letting this sudden news sink in. "How do you know?"

"I was there when he recruited Quasi to help him. He was the one who did it last time, too. I didn't want to tell anyone because I have no proof, but I just wanted to ask you why he would do something like that. You, of all people, should know him well enough to come to a conclusion about it."

"We-ell..." She sounded extremely hesitant to tell me anything. I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to sigh impatiently. I was 16, not 6, and a part of everything whether she liked it or not. There could no secrets anymore. "What do you know so far?"

"Frollo scared Quasi into helping him. They tried to abduct a girl at my school who works there as a dancer. Twice. He hates Asians and her especially, cuz she was telling me about his behavior when she's working there and he called her a 'skanky slope' once, but he also pervs on her whenever he can. So I want to know- why would he go so far as to kidnap her?"

Johanna sighed in my ear, and I could just picture her rubbing her temples as she tried to decide what to tell me. "You're not going to let up on me until I tell you everything, are you?

"No."

"OK, fine, but you have to promise that anything I tell you will remain between us. Not one word is to be repeated to anybody. You got that?"

"Of course."

"Ay-yi-yi..." She sighed again. "Claude has mental problems, Michigan. Always has. He was officially diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and mild skizophrenia when he was younger, but the medication usually masked it. I don't know what happened. Honestly I don't know how he got into the police force with mental issues and an attempted rape charge, but I suppose one of his 'friends'," I could hear the quote marks in her voice, "helped forge some documents or something-"

My eyes widened. "Whoa, wait up. A what charge?"

"Attempted rape. Years ago, before he joined the force- we're going back about 20 years, give or take- he got caught trying to... you know... a younger woman. God, she couldn't have been more than your age. He always had a thing for younger women, and that time he took it way too far. This time was probably the same."

I covered my face with my hand, trying to process what I'd just been told. Quasi's dad was a crazy criminal pedophile playing the part of a policeman. God, what a mess! And he was abusing his son on top of it. I needed that evidence that I had sworn to get more than I realized. I had to get Quasi out of there as soon as possible.

"Michigan? Are you there?"

I blew the air out of my cheeks and closed my eyes, mind working like crazy to find a way to help. "Yeah, sorry, its just a lot to take in. How do you know so much about him anyway?"

"We're cousins."

I sat up quickly, choking on my own saliva. "What?!"

"Claude Frollo and I are cousins. I'm not proud of that fact. But that's why I'm so informed. I'm family."

"Well that's... unexpected."

"I know. We don't look very alike, thank god. But that's everything. Is that all you wanted to know?"

"Yeah, I think so." It made perfect sense now. Put together a mental pedophile and some frankly gorgeous jailbait, and what did you get? Exactly what had happened. "This is heavy stuff."

"I know." She sounded grim. "Have you thought much about my request?"

"You mean to testify? I don't know. I might be able to do something else, though. Just give me some time. I'm working on it."

"Alright. Thank you for calling, but I have to get back to work."

"Oh, right. See you later."

"Call me again when you've made a decision."

"I will." I ended the call and sat back against the tree, not knowing what to do next. My questions had pretty much been answered. Now I needed to figure out a way to get proof of Frollo's abuse so that I could get Quasi out of there. Bruises were easy to explain away. Witness accounts were good, but only if believed, and for some reason this was not inclined to be believed. Frollo probably had some connections high up in the system- after all, someone had helped him with his criminal and mental health records. What then? I groaned, frustrated. It wasn't as easy as videoing it- there was no way I could do that.

Was there?

I sat up suddenly, an idea forming. It would need precise timing and proper organization, but it just might be possible...

I began to plan.

* * *

_**What might Mich have in mind?**_

_**Hope this chapter made sense. I dont have everything planned out so sometimes things get a little wonky :)**_

_**Review and tell me what you thought.** _


	21. When I'm With You

**_So last chapter Mich found out a few ugly truths about Frollo and started thinking of a way to help. This chapter, she puts her plan into action, finds some mysterious letters for Quasi and the girls get her thinking out her relationship with him._**

**_Read on, and then go and listen to Taylor Swift's 'Shake It Off' and Meghan Trainor's 'All About That Bass' if you haven't already, cuz they are awesome songs :)_**

* * *

Just a small town boy and girl  
livin' in a crazy world.  
Tryin' to figure out what is and isn't true.  
And I don't try to hide my tears.  
The secrets or my deepest fears.  
Through it all nobody gets me like you do.  
And you know everything about me.  
You say that you can't live without me.

That I'm only up when you're not down.  
Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground.  
It's like no matter what I do.  
Well you drive me crazy half the time;  
the other half I'm only trying to let you know that what I feel is true.  
And I'm only me  
Who I wanna be  
Well, I'm only me when I'm with you.

'I'm Only Me When I'm With You'- Taylor Swift.

* * *

My parents were fine with me sleeping over Dez's house to help her with homework. Creative writing, I told them. She has an assignment due Monday and needs my help, I told them. No matter how many times I did it, I always felt so guilty after lying to my parents. But I justified it by saying it was for the greater good. I would tell them everything when it was all over. Maybe.

As for Dez, I had to have an excuse to come over, so for a while we actually did do homework together. I helped her with her stuff, since I had already done it the year before, and I pretended to have trouble with mine and got her to help me. The whole time, I was dying of impatience, waiting for night to come so I could sneak out.

After homework, dinner, a movie or two and about an hour of truth or dare, Dez fell asleep. I grabbed my jacket and my cheap, ebay knock-off of a tablet, shoved my feet into some slippers and climbed out the window as quietly as I could.

The night air wasn't as cold as it had been last time I had done this, and I appreciated the lack of icy air as I pulled my jacket around me. I stuck to the shadows, avoiding the streetlamps and trying to stay out of sight. Now that the nights were warming up, the neighborhood was going to become a little busier at night, and I didn't want any trouble. Not that I was scared. Oh no.

More like terrified.

I gritted my teeth as I passed the shops, all lit up like a stadium, and fought the urge to freeze in fear as a bunch of young Samoans clustered around a lamp in the carpark, their loud, obnoxious voices carrying across the road. I scuttled across the street as quickly as I could, but I couldn't completely escape their notice.

"Hey, pahlungi!" one of them hollered at my rapidly retreating back, and everyone else laughed, calling me halfheartedly as I disappeared from their view. They weren't that interested in me, I realized later. They were just being their usual loud, fun selves. They were probably a little bit drunk, too.

By the time I reached Quasi's street, I was worn out and agitated and spoiling for a fight. Just let any of those ax-wielding homicidal maniacs I knew were lurking out there try to do anything to me.

It should be said that the stress and tiredness were beginning to take their toll on my mind at this point.

However, I was determined to push through. After all, it was for the greater good. So I found the now extremely familiar house and fought my way through the battlefield of a yard to the one window with a light on and tapped on the glass, wondering if I could actually go through with what I had planned tonight.

"W-what are you doing here?!" The words were halfway out of his mouth before he even got to the window. Fear and annoyance fought across his misshapen face as he pushed it up and looked outside for a car he knew would be arriving soon."T-tonight? You kn-know this isn't a good night!"

"I know." I wasn't sure what I could tell him that he would let me get away with- with all the planning and such, I hadn't actually rehearsed what I was going to say to him.

"Y-you know you can't be here!"

I took a deep breath. "Do you trust me, Kaz?"

He blinked. "Yes, of course."

I tucked my tablet under my arm and laid my hands across his as they rested on the windowframe. His skin was rough and warm under my touch as I looked into his eyes. "Do you believe me when I say that I would do anything, anything at all, to make everything alright?"

"Yes." His voice was a whisper now, an echo through the dark.

"Well, then, believe me now when I say that I need to be here tonight, no matter what happens." He started to protest, but I pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. "It will be OK."

And those four words seemed to dry up all his protests. He believed me. He trusted me. And now I had to prove that yes, it would indeed be alright.

Now determined to follow through with my plan, I placed my hands on the windowsill and hoisted myself up and through the window as Quasi quickly moved backwards to accommodate me. I bounced onto the bed and sat up and crossed my legs, peering at him through the darkness. "Do you always stay up and wait for him?"

"No p-point in going to s-sleep if I'm going to be woken up again."

"Oh." I looked around, making sure there was somewhere I could go when Frollo arrived. The closet looked big enough. Hopefully I would fit... "Why do you stay here, Quasi? Why don't you just, I dunno, run away?"

"Where would I go?"

"Johanna's place?"

He shook his head emphatically. "Th-that would be the f-first place he would look. He would only f-find me again and then it would b-be worse."

"But you can't stay here forever. What happens when you finish school?"

"I don't know."

I thumped the bed angrily. "I wish I could help you run away. Hide you at my place or something. You don't deserve to live like this!"

"According t-to him, I do," he replied quietly. "I'm a burden to him. H-his life has been hard enough w-without having to look after a 'misshapen monster of a child.' He sounded like he was repeating something he had heard many times before.

I could hardly believe it. "Did he call you that?"

"A few times."

My mouth dropped. "That's it. I'm gonna kill him. I am going to kill him!"

"Mich..."

I held up a hand, refusing to listen to any defense he might have for his cruel father. "No-no-no-no-no, you are not defending him. He locks you away in your room, beats you, and calls you monster, which you seem to believe, and you expect me to be fine with that? Well you listen here, Quasimodo: you are not a monster. I don't care how many times you have been called that, it is just not true. You are kind, and gentle, and generous, and an amazing person. Your father is wrong, I hope you see that, because I do."

He was silent, his face averted from me in the darkness, and so I sat there quietly, waiting for something to happen. I had a sneaking suspicion that he might've been crying, but I didn't want to confirm it, so I just moved a little closer so that our knees were touching, and breathed in the cool night air.

* * *

It was a little while later, when I had started to fall asleep, gotten up to stretch and accidentally stood on something that Quasi had been working on- I think it was a piece of wood being carves into something- that lights suddenly lit up the dark street and danced across the bedroom wall. All at once Quasi was on the floor, trying to shove bits and pieces of what looked like his artworks under the bed, and so of course I helped. It wasn't until we heard the front door slam that he realized I was still here.

"You have to go." It wasn't a request at all this time. It was an order. An order I had to disobey.

Not that there was time for me to clamber out the window anyway.

I barely made it into the closet before the door swung open and a very drunk, very grumpy, very hypocritical policeman stumbled in and immediately fell upon my friend. I scrambled for my tablet, opened the camera and started recording, fighting back tears and nausea as I listened to the sound of Quasi being beaten and yelled obscenities at by someone who should've been his protector. I knew who the monster was in that house, and it certainly wasn't my Kaz. Hopefully what I did tonight would help everyone else see it too.

I only just managed to stifle my gasp of horror as Frollo shoved Quasi into the wall and aimed one last clumsy clout at the top of his head before he turned away and lurched out of the room. When the door had banged shut and the heavy footsteps were far enough away, only then did I trust myself to stand.

Except I blindly grabbed a shelf to help myself up and ended up pulling a box down on top of me instead.

"Damn it," I muttered, feeling around on the floor for whatever had fallen out and trying to put it back. The box with full of random things, memories and old toys by the feel of it, and I think I managed to put most of them back. Then, coughing from the dust that the box of stuff had been gathering before I disturbed it, I grabbed my tablet from the mess and crawled out of the closet.

Quasi was curled up and leaning on the wall where he had been chucked, arms raised protectively around his head. I felt my throat close up and my stomach tie itself into an anxious knot as I touched his arm and saw what that evil man had done to my precious friend. He immediately relaxed at my touch and I lightly pulled him towards me, and he let me put my arms around him, even though he must have been hurting all over. I just sat on the floor and held him for a while, listening to the echo of footsteps somewhere in the house, the creaking of the roof, the humming of cicadas outside and his ragged breathing, worn out from the latest damage he had received. I held him until his breathing became slower and calmer, and I breathed with him, slowly and calmly, in and out, in and out, even if I didn't feel like being calm.

* * *

Some time later, when I had helped Quasi to bed and was sure he would be alright for the night, I left. Night was beginning to turn to morning, and I was so tired I could barely think. I almost got lost on the way back, but eventually I found the right street and pretty soon I was tumbling, exhausted, into bed, still holding my tablet and wearing my shoes.

It felt like I had only just closed my eyes when Dez's cat woke me later that morning. I rubbed my eyes and looked blearily around the room, seeing only an empty bed next to mine. Dez was up, then. What time was it? I remembered my tablet then, and I turned it on to check the time. 9:30. Yikes. Almost everyone in Dez's family got up at 6. I pushed the cat off me and sat up and stretched, letting out involuntary little groans as my muscles warmed up a bit.

"Oh good, you're up." Dez stood in the doorway, holding a book and her laptop. I vaguely remembered her saying something about extra credit homework the night before.

"You slept in quite a bit. Mum's at work and Richie took Karen to grandma's, so its just us for a bit. What do you want for brekkie?"

"Um, raisin toast is good, thanks. I'll make it myself."

"OK."

When she was gone, I went over and closed the door and started getting dressed. It was then that I realized I might've brought home more than I had left with last night. There on the bed, where I had been lying, was a very thin envelope.

I must've picked it up with my tablet after the box fell, I thought, reaching for the object. Or objects, as I immediately saw that it was in fact 3 very thin envelopes stuck together. They were stiff and unopened, and, as I carefully separated them, I saw they were numbered. I was about to open the first one before I realized that they weren't my property and I should probably return them to their rightful owners. They might have personal information or something like that, and I had no right to read them... No matter how strong that urge was. So I slipped them into my bag and continued dressing, trying not to think about them anymore.

* * *

That weekend I decided to forget. It wasn't that I didn't care or didn't want to care, it was just that I needed a break. Everything had become so dramatic and crazy, and I just wanted a few days of peace. So I pushes the events of the previous night to the back of my mind and promised to not think of it at all.

And it worked, more or less. Instead of brooding on the continuing problems of Quasi's life like I usually did, I let myself have fun. Fun basically meant a Doctor Who marathon and decorating Dez's brother's bedroom with barbie dolls and flowers and raiding the kitchen for chocolate. By the time I was dropped back home that night, I felt refreshed.

The next day was Sunday, which we spent cleaning the house. You would think a household of girls would be able to keep the place clean, but no. Not us. We were probably the messiest people in the world. So after pointing what needed to be done, dad went to bed (work was being more stressful than usual lately) and mum ducked out to get some ingredients for dinner,which left me in charge of the girls and without any time to think about 'things', which suited me very well.

So it wasn't until Monday that I allowed myself to remember everything, including the letters I had accidentally swiped. I managed to remember to take them to school with me, but unfortunately my tablet stayed on my bedside table, forgotten until the last minute with no time to do anything about the video I had taken.

Oh well. At least I had the letters.

We met at the lockers that morning and walked into music together, side by side. Apart from my one question of 'you alright?' and his one answer of 'yes,' we were silent, and we stayed silent through class. I doodled in my notebook as Miss Basso outlined the requirements of our last assignment for the year and reminded everyone that the end-of-year concert was in a few weeks and that auditions were still open. I hadn't realized how close we were to the end of the school year. Thinking that it was funny that the program wasn't full yet this close to the event, I wondered idly if I should audition to be in it. I probably wasn't good enough. Mind you, I was getting very good at guitar thanks to Quasi, and on a good day my voice wasn't half bad... Maybe. I would think about it.

Lunchtime came around and we met up in the usual place. As we took out our lunches and guitars, I stopped to watch him as he eased himself into his seat and absentmindedly rubbed his arm, at what was obviously a sore spot.

"We can skip the music lesson today if you're not feeling up to it," I offered gently, breaking the silence that we had been keeping all morning.

"No, I-I'm fine," he stated, trying to sit up a little straighter.

Liar.

I bit my lip to prevent myself from insisting that we give it a rest today and instead got out my guitar. It blew my mind sometimes how unselfish he was. He hated showing any vulnerability and so he hid it so as not to bother anyone. He was in pain and probably would've liked to just rest, but he also knew how much I wanted to learn to play and so he forced himself to do it. I suppose it was true what people say: the saddest people always try their hardest to make others happy. Because they know what its like to feel absolutely worthless and they don't want anyone else to feel like that. And truthfully, I had gone through a period after my breakup with Phoebus where I felt like the most worthless person in the world, so I knew what it was like. It made me like him even more, just knowing what he was doing for me.

"Well, if you're sure you're up to it..." I trailed off, then continued when he nodded vigorously, "I have a song I'd like to learn next." I opened my laptop and after a quick search through my documents, brought up a page of lyrics and chords. "You know it- I told you about it ages ago. My new favorite song."

"E-Everything Has Changed?"

"Everything Has Changed," I repeated with a smile. "You think you could play this one?"

"It's a duet," he pointed out, glancing down the screen.

"Yeah, I figured you can teach me the first part and then play the second part yourself."

"I think I can d-do that..." He peered at the first line, then showed me the chord on his guitar. I copied him. Then he showed me the next, and the next, and we continued like this for the next 10 minutes, trying out chords and singing bits of the song when I wasn't sure how it was supposed to sound. By the time 10 minutes was up, I was playing the intro and comparing it to the song I had on file.

"You're getting better," Quasi commented when I had finished. "You're learning quickly."

"Thanks. I guess just have a great teacher, huh?" I stood up and threw my lunch rubbish in the bin, smiling when I got it in. My music wasn't the only thing I was improving. As I went to sit down again, I felt something stiff in my back pocket and remembered the letters I had promised myself to give back to him without reading. "Oh, by the way, I might've accidentally taken something of yours home with me on Friday," I said, pulling them out. The word 'Friday' seemed put a cloud over Quasi's face, but it quickly evaporated when he saw the letters. He reached for them slowly, and I handed them over. "I pulled a box on top of me in the closet and I must've grabbed them when I grabbed my tablet. What are they?"

"I...I-I th-think..." He turned them over, looking at the numbers, and opened the first one. Recognition flooded his face as he pulled out a folded letter, and upon opening it and looking at the name on the bottom, he looked positively overwhelmed.

"Are you OK?" I asked finally, desperate for some kind of acknowledgement. "What is it?"

"I th-think..." he stammered dazedly, trying to form the words, "Th-this is, ah..."

"Would you like some time alone?" I offered.

He nodded.

So I stood up, leaned my guitar against the desk and left without another word, hoping that once he had sorted everything out, he would tell me what was going on.

* * *

"Oh, look who decided to rejoin the land of the living!" Em grinned at me as I approached our old lunch spot and patted the spot next to her. "Sit down, stranger. What are you doing here?"

I nodded at everyone and sat down on a tree root. "My music partner is in dire need of some alone time to straighten out personal matters, so I've decided to come out and see what's up. What are you guys up to?"

"Nothing much." Dez exchanged a look with Bex and Em before continuing a little hesitantly. "What about you? Anything interesting happen lately?"

"Um..." _Family secrets, Late-night rendezvous, mysterious letters..._ "Nah, nothing of interest."

"Oh. OK." She looked disappointed, like she knew I was hiding something from her and was sad that I wouldn't confide in her... which was probably the case, actually. I felt suddenly guilty about how little I was letting my friends into my life. They deserved to know the truth, didn't they? But how could I tell them what was going on when it wasn't really my business to tell? So I kept my mouth shut and decided to let everything play out in its own good time.

Unfortunately, the girls had other ideas.

"You look tired," commented Bex, watching me closely. It was a perfectly innocent observation, but it felt probing, like there was hidden meaning behind it.

"Do I?" I blinked a few times, wondering how bad it looked. I hadn't spent very much time in front of the mirror that morning, so I wasn't sure how much my late nights were taking a toll on my appearance. "I am a bit tired, I guess. You know how it is."

My friends were notorious for spending hours online at night, but in this case I don't think they had that in mind. Em sighed as if she was sick of beating around the bush and sat up a little straighter as she looked at me, watching for a reaction. "I guess I would, if I was the one sneaking out at night to do who-knows-what with who-knows-who."

I stared at her, unable to even pretend innocence. "What?"

She huffed in annoyance and gestured to the others. "C'mon Mich, cut it out. We know, OK? We know you sneak out at Dez's sleepovers to be with your boyfriend or whatever. Do you think we're stupid or something?"

"You left the screen open on Friday night," Dez pointed out quietly, "And you had shoes on in the morning. In bed. And grass on your pajamas. It was obvious that you went somewhere when I was asleep."

"And I remember waking up one time to find you gone," Bex piped up, twirling her hair as she tried to remember. "I thought you went to the loo or something, but you were gone for ages. I think I went back to sleep waiting for you."

"And plus, you really do look tired. Like, you have bags under your eyes. It's not a good look." That was Em, obviously. Trust her to point out the attractiveness of something, or lack thereof.

"So what's going on?" Dez leaned forward expectantly. "Where do you go? How long has this been going on? And why haven't you told us yet?"

I groaned and looked up at the canopy of branches above me to avoid facing their expectant stares. "Well if you must know, I've been visiting a friend."

"Quasimodo," Em said flatly. She snorted at the look on my face when I turned to her in surprise. "What? You must think we're idiots if you think we can't work it out. Of course it has to be him. He seems to be the only thing you care about anymore."

"You would care a damn awful lot too if one of us was having problems at home," I snapped. "I'm trying to help him. Do you know what it's like to have no friends and a difficult home life and no one to talk to?"

"Difficult as in... abusive?"

I stared at Em, wondering if she had suddenly developed telepathy. "What makes you say that?"

"He's scared of everything. I watch him sometimes and he's always jumpy and creeping around like he's walking on eggshells. Also, bruises. It would make sense if he came from an abusive home."

"And why have you been watching him?"

"Oh, that..." She glanced at Bex, who smiled sheepishly. "Bex kinda sees you two together, so I was trying to figure out what you see in him. I still don't know. I mean, he's nice, but not someone you're usually into."

I laughed incredulously. "Are you really saying that to me with a straight face? Have you even seen my favorite movies and TV shows? Edward Scissorhands, Doctor Who, Star Trek, Sherlock-"

"We all love Sherlock and Doctor Who!" Em interrupted. "What do they have to do with this?"

"But do you know why I love Sherlock? Because he's an outcast. And what about Doctor Who and Star Trek Next Gen? The Doctor is an alien, and Data is an android. Both love humanity but they're always on the outside. All my favorite characters are different or outcasts of some kind. Is it really such a stretch to believe I'd like someone different from everybody else in real life?" I paused, then added quickly, "That is, if I liked him that way. Which I don't."

"If you say so," said Bex, sounding unconvinced. "But you must care about him an awful lot. We hardly ever see you anymore, and you even go out at night to see him. As if you don't see each other enough already."

"He needs me, and I want to help him." I shrugged. "If you can't understand that, then I don't know what else to say to you."

"We want to understand." Dez sounded frustrated, and I didn't blame her. I would too, I guess. "But things have changed so much in the past semester that its hard to know what to think. You hardly tell us anything anymore! We hardly know this boy, but suddenly he seems to be the most important person in your life. You were always so afraid of people noticing you, but now you're one of the most talked-about person in the school and you don't care. You've squashed the biggest bully in the school, become some kind of personal carer and you've stopped talking to us, your best friends. What are we supposed to think? What are we supposed to do?"

The others nodded in agreement with her, and suddenly I realized how right they were. Things had changed so fast around them, and I was never around. Of course they were bound to be upset and confused! I would be too if one of my friends went and changed the world around me without any explanation! It was time that changed. I had to make it up to them, and that meant explaining a few things.

So for the first time in ages, I decided to trust someone else.

I told them almost everything, from our first conversation and shaky beginnings of friendship, to unwittingly becoming involved in everything and trying to fix things on my own. I didn't tell them the specifics of Quasi's 'family troubles' or difficult history, but made sure they knew that things were difficult and complicated. And they listened, as I knew they would. They paid attention and didn't interrupt and reacted in all the right places, and when I was finished I felt better for getting it off my chest. I never realized how heavy secrets could be until then, until I let some of them go.

"What are we going to do about it?" Em asked as soon as I had finished. That was why I liked her- she was always straight to the point and willing to help.

"Nothing," I answered her. "I don't want you guys to do anything unless I ask for it. He doesn't want anyone to know about this stuff, so don't tell him I told you and don't treat him any differently than you already do. Ok?"

"Ok." Dez sighed. "Thank you for telling us. We only want to help, and it's a bit of a pain when you keep secrets."

"I know." I scratched my head awkwardly. "And you're right. I have been spending too much time hidden away. I can kinda understand where the dating rumours come from."

"Are they just rumours though?" Bex sounded a tad bit too hopeful for my liking. "Are you sure you don't like him in that way?"

At my look, Em laughed. "I know, I know, it's getting a bit annoying, but it's a valid question." She sobered quickly and tapped my arm, speaking slowly. "Can you tell us with absolute certainty that you don't have feelings for him? Can you say that it is completely impossible? Think it through."

And just when I was about to tell them that of course I don't have feelings for him and I never will because I learned my lesson with Phoebus and don't want to get into anything like that for a long time, I stopped. Up until that moment, I had known exactly what my answer was to the question. The words were on my tongue, ready to be spoken, to firmly quiet their obviously ridiculous questions, but my mouth refused to move. Instead, my mind started to wonder if I was being entirely truthful with myself. And then I wasn't sure at all.

I had thought that I was safe from difficult feelings. I thought I had determined not to get into that again, because it only brought pain in the long-run. I had been so certain of myself and my heart until now. What had happened? Why couldn't I say with firm decision that was most certainly not, and never would be, in love with Quasimodo?

Curse my stupid heart.

The girls were starting to wonder about my silence, and I could almost see the cogs turning in their minds as they wondered if they had struck a chord. I wanted to laugh and tell them that they were way off the mark, and then change the subject to something less invasive and confusing, but when I finally opened my mouth, it was with a helpless shrug and a defensive tone. "I don't know."

"What do you mean-"

"I mean I don't know. I don't _think_ I like him like that, but I can't say never. It might happen, but it might not. I don't know! Are you happy now?"

"I guess so." I could tell Bex was excited by the answer I had given her, and I wished that I could've said something a lot more concrete. But I couldn't. My heart was a mystery to me, and I didn't know if I would ever understand it.

The others looked like they were finished with the questions for now, so I stood up and brushed myself off, eager to leave. It wasn't often that my friends could make me uncomfortable, but this time in particular was really getting to me. "Good. I'm gonna go check on him. See you later."

I left before they could respond, wondering why life had to be so damn complicated.

* * *

_**Next chapter will reveal the contents of the mysterious letters. An idea of what they might be?**_

_**Don't forget to review!**_

_**And maybe check out the prologue for my Edward Scissorhands fic.**_


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